Familiar Ground
by balmorhea
Summary: AU. The summer after Harry's sixth year, a freak accident allows Harry a chance to know the family he never had. Like all good things, a seemingly ordinary, Death-Eater-free life comes with its price.
1. The Accident

Chapter one:

The first thing I noticed was how much my face hurt. I mean, _really _hurt. I moved my hand to touch it, but I had no idea what I was feeling. Where my nose used to be was a swollen lump of numb tissue.

"Harry!"

I opened my eyes-or tried to, rather, as one of them seemed to be swollen shut. There was something reddish in front of me, but I couldn't figure out what it was. Suddenly two pairs of hands latched onto me. I jumped, my fighting instinct at the ready, and realized that this was a mistake as a fresh wave of pain shot through my body.

"Harry, are you all right?" came an anxious voice. Was that Ron?

"Don't move him-he hit that tree pretty hard. He might have broken something."

"Should we get Mum?" asked a girl's voice.

"Ginny, you go get her-"

"What?" she said, her voice indignant. "I'm not leaving Harry-"

"Ginny, you're going because you're the smallest and you can fly home faster," said Ron in annoyance. "Go!"

It took me a moment to realize the reason everything looked so strange was because I was lying flat on my back. Funny, I couldn't even feel the ground.

"Harry? Can you hear us?" asked one of the twins.

I tried to reply that I could, but I think I just moaned.

"Harry? Harry! Oh, Harry, dear, are you all right?" came an anxious voice. That must be Mrs. Weasley, I thought dully. I sensed rather than saw her drop to her knees next to me. "What happened?" she snapped angrily at her children.

"We were playing quidditch, and he hit a tree. I think the wind blew him off center," someone mumbled.

"Didn't I tell you not to play in the storm?" Mrs. Weasley shrieked. "And now look what you've lot done! Harry dear?" she added, her tone changing completely.

I tried to sit up, but firm hands pushed me back down.

"No dear, you should lie down until your mother gets here and takes a look at you-"

I protested that I could walk, but it ended up coming out as, "Going…walk…."

"Let him sit up, Mum, nothing else looks broken," said one of the twins.

I propped myself onto my elbows, and with the help of strange hands, I was able to sit up straight. My head suddenly began to swim, and I had to pause for a moment. I tried to touch my face again, amazed at how numb it was starting to feel.

"Harry, can you walk?" Ron's face was suddenly in front of mine. I sniggered at the expression on his face but stopped, wincing at the pain.

"Ow."

"'Ow' is right, dear," said Mrs. Weasley disapprovingly. "Boys, help him to his feet. You're sure you can walk, Harry?" she asked earnestly, turning back to me.

"Yes," I mumbled, glad I was finally able to form something coherent. Mrs. Weasley seemed pleased that I could, too, and moved back as Fred and George helped me to my feet. I was unsteady at first, and Fred had to sling my arm around his shoulder so I wouldn't fall over.

When we got back to the house, I slumped down in one of the kitchen chairs. Mrs. Weasley immediately handed me an enormous ice pack and directed me to hold it to my face. It almost completely obscured my vision, but the cold felt nice against my broken face.

Mrs. Weasley paced the kitchen, sometimes muttering to herself and sometimes scolding her children angrily. "I told you lot not to play in this weather, and look what you've done! You're lucky none of you were killed out there!" she shouted, angrily throwing wood into the stove and torching it with her wand. "Just you _wait _until Lily gets here-I wouldn't stop her if she wanted to strangle all of you herself!"

Ron sat down next to me. I removed my ice pack and saw with my good eye that he looked extremely windblown and worried.

"'s not that bad," I mumbled. My voice sounded like I had a terrible head cold.

"Your mum's going to kill us," said Ron, shaking his head. Then he shot a dark look at Mrs. Weasley. "You know, if mine doesn't first."

I tried to frown at that, but I wasn't sure if my face did anything. "My mum?"

"Yeah, she said no quidditch, remember?"

What was Ron talking about? I was about to ask him as much when a red-haired woman suddenly appeared in front of me with a soft _pop_.

"What happened?" she asked worriedly, examining my face with a critical and anxious expression.

"He flew into a tree," someone said.

The woman cast a dark look over her shoulder.

I closed my good eye for a moment, then opened it again, hoping to clear my vision. This woman couldn't have been Mrs. Weasley-she was still threatening her children on the other side of the kitchen. The woman looked a bit like Ginny, only older.

"Harry, how many fingers am I holding up?" she asked, turning back to me.

I squinted at her hand. I meant to say 'three,' but it sounded more like 'tree.'

She sighed heavily. "I can fix your nose here, but I'll have to take you in to work to clean the rest of you up."

Did Ginny have an older sister? I couldn't think clearly-the pain in my face was coming back full force.

"Can you walk?" she asked me. "Molly, thank you for calling me," she added, looking over at Mrs. Weasley.

"Who're you?" I managed to say.

The red-haired woman looked at me sharply. I vaguely noticed the room went quiet, but I couldn't figure out why. Was I _supposed _to recognize her?

"Ron, come here," she said quickly. Ron suddenly appeared in my line of sight, the strange woman's hands holding him in place like he was going to run. "Harry, who is this?"

I stared at her, not comprehending. "Ron."

"And those two?" she said, pointing.

I turned my head in the direction of the twins. Was this a joke?

"Harry, just answer the question," she said. I must have said that last thought out loud.

"Fred and George."

"And me?"

I turned back to her, mystified. Maybe I was missing something? Was she a new member of the Order I had simply forgotten about? With my good eye I looked at her critically-her tired green eyes, red hair pulled back hastily into a knot. I felt like I should know who she was, but I'm pretty sure I'd never seen her before.

"I'm sorry, I've…got no idea."

She exchanged a worried glance with someone-probably Mrs. Weasley.

"Sorry," I mumbled, feeling apprehensive. I could tell everyone was looking at me, and it was making me uncomfortable.

"It's all right, Harry, there's nothing to be sorry about. We're going to head to work to get you cleaned up a bit, okay?" she said. There was a strange inflection in her voice, like I was a patient in a hospital who was dying of cancer.

Before I was really aware of it, I suddenly found myself in an over-bright corridor. There were dull voices and distant beeping everywhere. I held the ice pack to my face, and the strange woman led me down the halls. Finally we stopped, and I removed the ice to see that we were in a small room with a single gurney in the middle and cabinets everywhere.

"Sit," she directed, rummaging through a cabinet. She filled a tray with a pile of snowy gauze, some kind of cotton swab, and numerous other objects I'd expect to find in a muggle hospital. The woman slipped on a pair of pink latex gloves with a _snap _and doused a pile of gauze with some kind of brown liquid.

We sat in silence as she cleaned my face. Her movements were robotic but gentle, like she did this sort of thing every day. She must have been a Healer; why else would the hospital just let us in to a random room and use their equipment?

"This might twinge a little," she finally said, pulling out her wand. "_Episky._"

A moment later, my nose snapped back into its usual position. I touched it gingerly, relieved to feel a distinct shape again.

The woman looked my face over one more time, a worried expression on her face. When she seemed satisfied, she pulled off her gloves and tossed them on the metal tray that held a heap of damp, bloody gauze.

"I'll be right back," she said. "Wait here."

I watched her leave the room. Now that my eye wasn't nearly as swollen and the pain in my face was starting to dull, I tried to think of where I knew her from-if I knew her. Something about her was eerily familiar, but I was sure I had never seen her before.

Several minutes elapsed, and I found myself looking curiously through the cupboards, trying to kill time. Most of them were filled with basic medical supplies, and I quickly lost interest. I moved over to the sink and glanced in the mirror, and jumped.

I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised that my entire shirtfront was covered with blood. Everyone had looked so worried back at the Weasley's. But then I noticed something was amiss. I squinted at the mirror, then quickly back down at my shirt, pulling it away from me for a better view.

This shirt wasn't mine. It wasn't four sizes too big, and it certainly had never belonged to Dudley. Maybe I borrowed it from one of the Weasleys? But even that didn't seem right-the shirt, aside from the blood and dirt, looked brand-new. I was sure that none of the Weasleys had ever owned anything new before.

The door opened again, and the red-haired woman appeared with a new stranger who was dressed in a bright green uniform. He must work here, I thought dully.

"Harry, this is Healer Dearborn. He's going to take a look at you, make sure there's nothing else wrong, all right?"

I hesitated. "Er…sure," I said, not sure what else to say.

"How's your head feeling, Harry?" Dearborn asked, pulling out a notebook and quil from his breast pocket as the woman exited the room. "Any pain, lightheadedness, anything like that?"

"It hurts," I allowed, shrugging. "I mean, I guess I hit a tree, so I'm not really surprised."

"Have a seat," said Dearborn, gesturing to the examination table. I did as he directed, and he stood in front of me. "Look straight ahead, and let me know when you can see my fingers, all right?" he asked, placing one hand on either side of my face.

"Okay," I said when his fingers showed up in my peripheral vision.

He scribbled that down. "Now squeeze my fingers as hard as you can," he said, holding them up.

I took them hesitantly, feeling nervous and stupid, but did as he asked.

"Good," he mumbled. I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or himself. He wrote something else down, then said, "I'm going to say three words, and I want you to remember them, all right?"

"Okay," I said, fidgeting. I glanced at the red-haired woman, and she gave me an encouraging smile.

"Cat. Green. Swimming."

I stared at him, but he didn't explain. Then he asked, "What's today's date?"

"Er…June twentieth," I said. "Thursday."

"When is your birthday?"

"July thirty-first," I said, getting nervous.

"You go to Hogwarts, right? What year?"

"I'm starting my sixth," I said, folding and unfolding my hands.

"And you play on the team, right? Lily said you were in here for a quidditch injury."

"Er, yeah. I play for Griffindor. Seeker."

"I played Chaser for two years when I went there," Dearborn said genially. "Ravenclaw. I broke the same arm three times in one year playing, and my mother was ready to pull me out of school to get me to stop."

I nodded, unsure of what to say.

"Can you tell me what the three words were?" he asked, suddenly changing topics again.

"What? Oh-" I said. I frowned as I tried to remember. "Cat. Green…and swimming?"

"Good," he said, making another note in his notebook. I felt uncomfortably like a lab animal. I had no idea what he was testing for.

"Where do your parents work?" he asked, looking back up at me.

I hesitated. There is was again. Everyone seemed to be acting like my parents were alive. What on earth was going on?

I looked back at the red-haired woman. Did they assume that the red-haired woman was my mother? I mean, she certainly looks like she could be her, but my parents were dead. And why would this Healer be asking what my parents do? Everyone in the wizarding world knows the Boy-Who-Lived is an orphan. And what if this woman was in some bizarre way my mother? What did that mean?

Was I in some twisted alternate universe?

I tried to remember what I had been doing before waking up in the Weasley's yard. I know I had been outside, but I was sure I wasn't anywhere near the Burrow. Besides, none of us would have been allowed outside with the Death Eaters on the loose.

What was going on?

Dearborn was looking at me expectantly. "I…don't know…." I said, unsure of what to say. Somehow it didn't feel right to say, "My parents are dead" when everyone seemed to believe that red-haired woman was my mum. Should I play along until I figured things out? Was this some kind of trap?

"Do you have any siblings?"

I stared at him for a long moment, hoping something in Dearborn's expression would give the answer away. "Um…no," I said slowly. Even I could tell my voice sounded like I was guessing.

Dearborn sighed slightly, straightening up. That wasn't a good sign.

I looked back at the red haired woman, trying to identify anything about her. Her eyes were the same bright green, but they were older, more lined. Her hands were bony-looking, but her arms looked strong, like she regularly worked hard. I supposed this woman could almost pass for how my mother would look if she were still alive. But regardless of how she looked, that was impossible. My parents were dead.

Had I just gone insane?

"Your sensory and motor skills are just fine," said Dearborn, directing his attention to me. "And your short-term memory is good."

I stared at him, waiting for the bad news.

"However," he continued.

There.

"Your long-term memory seems to be affected by your injury," he said. "Now, I don't want you to get alarmed," he added, glancing at the anxious woman by the doorway. "We're going to do a few tests to make sure it's nothing serious. You hit your head pretty hard, and it's not uncommon to have temporary memory impairments following an injury."

"What about everything else?" the woman asked. "Is he fine? Is he going to be all right?"

"We need to wait for the tests, but everything else appears normal," said Dearborn.

"But he didn't recognize me earlier-"

Dearborn turned to me. "Harry, do you recognize her?"

Nervously I looked from him to the woman. Her features seemed familiar, but only in the way I might recognize a celebrity or someone I had seen in passing. In truth, I had no idea who she was. But as I looked at her worried face, I found myself suddenly lying.

"Er, yeah…" I said hesitantly. That didn't sound convincing. "Yeah, I do. I just…you know, it was kind of foggy when I first…came to."

What was wrong with me? I had no idea what I was talking about.

The woman's face was suddenly overcome with relief, and I had to look away.

"All right. I'll put in the order for the scan. Lily, you know where to take him," said Dearborn, pocketing his notebook. He turned back to me. "I'll see you in a bit, Harry."

Lily? _Lily_? So this woman was supposed to be my mother. I gaped at her for a moment before I got a hold of myself and school my features. When he left the room, I was awkwardly left alone with the woman who may or may not be the living version of my dead mother.

"Oh, Harry," she said, moving forward and wrapping her arms around me. It was awkward being hugged at first, but there was something oddly comforting about her embrace.

What was _wrong _with me?

She felt my hesitancy and pulled back, absently wiping at her eyes. "Right, sorry. I know it's embarrassing for your mum to hug you. Well, let's head out, then, shall we? Make sure your stupid decision to play quidditch didn't cause any lasting damage?"

As we walked around the hospital, I felt like I should fill the empty silence with something. The poor red-haired woman looked so anxious.

"So…are you a Healer?" I asked, unsure of what to say.

She looked at me once before saying, "I've been a Mediwitch for about-oh, ten years?"

"Is that like a nurse or something?"

She looked at me quizzically.

"Or not," I said quickly. Did I offend her?

"No, no," she said, forcing a smile. "You're right, it is like a nurse. I was just surprised you used a muggle example, that's all. I didn't know you knew that much about the muggle world."

"Er, I have some friends that are muggle-born at school," I said quickly. This was half-true. I felt it wouldn't do well to admit I knew about the muggle world because I was raised by her sister my whole life.

It went quiet again.

"So…what does…Dad do?" I asked, guessing that my dad must be alive as well.

She smiled to herself, then looked to me. "He's an Auror. Exactly what you've always wanted to be on the one condition that professional quidditch doesn't work out. And I hope it doesn't, because I don't know if I can handle stitching your broken face for too much longer."

She smiled at me again, and I found myself smiling back before I could stop it.

I really shouldn't get too comfortable with the idea of having parents who were alive. Clearly this was some strange dream or a hallucination, and it wouldn't do to get sucked up in it. I needed to figure out where I was and, most importantly, how to get out of here.

But what on earth was I going to do meanwhile? Just go along with it?

* * *

><p>I had two theories.<p>

One, I had suffered a psychotic break. I was obviously so messed up from everything, particularly Voldemort invading my mind, that I had finally lost it. After all, Snape himself said Voldemort liked to drive people inside through Legilimency. In my psychotic break, I must have retreated to some far recess of my mind where I invented a world where I had parents, Sirius, and even a brother.

My second theory was Dark Magic. Had I been cursed without remembering it? Was I driven insane through torture to the point where my mind snapped? Well, that kind of went back to the first theory, but still. Maybe everyone around me was some elaborate Dark Magic spell designed to trick me…into what? Hugging my fake mum and dad?

I really should have been more paranoid and diligent about keeping my guard up, but I couldn't help myself. Moody would have a heart attack if he knew I actually returned home with the woman that I assumed was supposed to be Lily Potter.

I had to keep telling myself that this wasn't real, but it was becoming increasingly harder to believe. Maybe this was just an alternate universe? A world where things didn't suck and I still had a family. Of course, if that was the case, I had no idea how I had gotten here.

It was two hours after the trip to the hospital, and I went through everything. The drawers, the wardrobe, the desk and the bookshelf, and everything else that was in the bedroom. My clothes were strewn all over the floor, but they were _mine, _and they were brand-new. Or at least newer than Dudley's hand-me-downs. An owl cage sat on a desk covered in junk, and I looked through everything there, too. Mostly it consisted of old letters, homework, and back issues of quidditch magazines. All my old school books lined the bookshelf, as well as a few on quidditch and Aurors. In the very back, I found a worn-looking paperback about codes and curse-breaking.

I read every letter I could find. Ron and I were clearly still best friends in this universe, and it seemed I still got on with Hagrid. I couldn't help but notice there were no letters from Hermione, however, and my spirits fell a little at that. If anyone could help me figure out what was going on, it was her.

Just then I heard voices from downstairs and I paused in the purge of my bedroom. I rushed to my bedroom door and laid down with my ear near the crack.

"…there were no signs of damage," said the woman who might be my mum. "Dearborn said not to worry too heavily-not unless Harry's personality changes, or he has mood swings that seem out of place. Everything else looks good, though. Dearborn said Harry's memory should start coming back gradually, and that we should just take things slow and help him along the way….Yes, I know. Yes, Molly's talking to them now….I've told her Harry's fine, but you know how she gets…."

I couldn't hear a reply. That must mean Lily-er, my mum-was fire calling my dad. It felt so strange to think those words. _My mum is talking to my dad._

When she stopped talking and I was sure James wasn't going to appear any time soon, I got back up and looked around my room. It was a mess to begin with, but now it was appalling. The Dursleys would have heart attacks if they saw how messy it had gotten in the one hour I've been home.

Home. I needed to stop thinking like that. This wasn't real.

But it didn't hurt to be curious, did it? To see how the Harry in this universe lived?

It seemed most of my interests matched those of this Harry: quidditch, wizard's chess, and collecting Chocolate Frog cards. There were a few things that were new, though. This other Harry seemed to like reading muggle novels; they were everywhere, strewn about the place worse than my clothes.

_His _clothes.

I moved to the nightstand, and found a thick leather-bound journal crammed with scrap pieces of paper. _Excellent, _I thought. I would never keep a journal with Dudley around, but I'm sure glad the other Harry does. I'll look less like an idiot if I know what's been going on. I opened it up to the beginning, and saw that it started when I was eight years old. Reading over the passages, I noticed first that my handwriting hadn't improved much over the years.

_Dad got promoted…Mum's started gardening, and she keeps making us eat tomatoes every day because there are so many…Uncle Moony came to visit again…I keep asking Mum for a pet, but she says no, so then I asked Dad… _I noticed as I flipped through the passages that several pages had been torn out or scribbled over so heavily that there was no way to read them.

I skipped ahead to when I would have started Hogwarts, and read how the eleven-year-old Harry who had parents reacted to the news. Apparently this Harry acquired Hedwig then, too, only from his parents. He also begged for a broomstick and was too excited about Hogwarts to be able to sleep. Apparently this Harry's mum-my mum?-had to keep his wand locked away until term started.

I skipped through the pages. Quirrell still taught Defense Against the Dark Arts, but it seemed he didn't have Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head in this world. In fact, there was no mention of Voldemort or Death Eaters at all.

I skipped to fourth year, and almost dropped the journal when I read that this other Harry had a younger brother named Ben, who had just started Hogwarts three years later.

_Well, _I thought slowly. _I suppose it's not such a bad idea to read up on this so I don't look like an idiot and Mum takes me back to St. Mungo's. _

I spent most of that afternoon looking through the journal, reading up on this other Harry's life. It seemed weird that in another universe, I could have had an extraordinarily average life. I had girlfriends, was the star of the quidditch team, and seemed to regularly get into trouble with Ron. It seemed weird to get jealous of a Harry that probably didn't exist, but I was.

"Harry?"

I jumped at my name being called, and looked up. In the doorway stood the man that must be my father. If he wasn't actually dead, of course.

He looked exactly how I always imagined him to. The hazel eyes were faintly lined, just like my mum's. His glasses were much nicer than mine, some type of black horn frame instead of the cheap wire I always wore. His shirt sleeves were rolled up lazily, like he did this every day after work. Even his expression seemed familiar and easy-going. He was eyeing my bruised face with mild amusement, but I could still find traces of worry in his eyes and around his mouth.

"Your mum says you broke your face today?" he asked, grinning crookedly.

"It was an accident," I said lamely, unable to tear my eyes away.

"I suppose Mum and Molly have already done the yelling, and I don't need to?"

"Actually, Mum hasn't really shouted at all," I said. My dad's expression changed to confusion slightly, and I immediately regretted it. Clearly I had said the wrong thing.

He seemed to let it pass, however. He placed his hands in his pockets, and said, "You know, a broken nose suits you well. I wouldn't say you got it from flying into a tree, though. Doctor the story a bit and tell everyone you fought off a troll single-handedly."

I smiled sardonically at that. Well, I had come close one time…

"You're okay, though, right?" he asked, more seriously this time. "Mum says your memory's a little off from the crash."

"Er, it's getting there," I lied, holding up the journal I had been reading. "Good thing I kept these things, eh?"

He smiled at that. "Yeah, just be careful what you admit to not remembering around Ben, or he's going to take advantage of you. 'Sure Harry, of course you give me half your allowance. Don't you remember?'"

I couldn't help but laugh at that. My dad-or this other Harry's dad-was so easy to be around.

"Anyway-Mum sent me up to tell you supper's ready, and that she'll gladly bring you up a tray if you're not feeling well."

"Er, I'm not really hungry," I lied. "I ate a big lunch at Ron's earlier." Really I just wasn't sure it was a good idea to get too wrapped up in this strange life. I wanted to make sure I had done sufficient research on this Harry's life before I sort of temporarily took over it.

He frowned, looking worried. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," I replied, hoping I sounded nonchalant and convincing. "Hey—is there, er, any way I could talk to Sirius?" I added suddenly. I said it without thinking. I was just so used to the idea that things were different in this universe that I automatically assumed Sirius was alive, too.

My dad looked surprised at that. I realized it was too late to backpedal without changing my mind, so instead I stared at my dad and kept my face as serious as I could.

"Sure, sure," he said finally, looking mystified. "Let me go grab the mirror."

I didn't know why I wanted to talk to him so badly—it wasn't as though he could help or explain what was going on. This Sirius could think I was totally crazy, but still I wanted to talk with him. If I didn't have Hermione, then Sirius was my next best ally in this bizarre world. As much as I loved Ron, I knew he would be just as baffled as me, even in this universe.

While he was gone, I paced my room anxiously, trying to think of the best way to explain what was going on without sounding like I had just lost my mind. My dad reappeared a moment later, holding out the two-way mirror before I could think of my speech. He hesitated in my doorway for a second, hands in his pockets.

"Right. Well. I'll leave you to it," he said, closing my bedroom door behind him.

I looked at the mirror in my hands. Why was I so nervous? I shouldn't be nervous. It was Sirius—I could tell him anything.

I took a deep breath. "Sirius Black."

I waited a moment, until finally my reflection was replaced with a dark shadow. I frowned. I had done it correctly, hadn't I?

Just then a face appeared in the mirror. "Harry?"

It was him.

"Harry, is everything all right?" he asked worriedly.

I must have looked completely stupid, staring blankly back at him. "Fine, everything's fine," I managed to say. Oh god, what a lie.

He frowned. "You sure? What happened to your face?"

Then I remembered my broken nose and black eye. "Oh, it's nothing. Just an accident—I hurt myself playing Quidditch," I said.

"Oh." There was a pause. "Well, what can I do for you?" he asked. Perhaps I was just projecting my own anxiety, but I thought Sirius sounded a little nervous. Why would he sound nervous? But then I remembered I was acting strangely by everyone's standards, so of course he would look uneasy.

I opened my mouth to speak, but then I realized I wanted to talk to Sirius face to face. If he really was alive. Real or not, I wanted to see him in person again.

"Is there a way we could talk? In person, I mean?" I asked.

There was the briefest of pauses. "Yeah, sure," he said. His voice was casual, but something in his expression still seemed off. Was I really this bad at pretending to be a different Harry? "Um, do you want me to come over?"

"Actually, can I come to your place?" I asked. I didn't want to risk having my parents—the other Harry's parents—overhearing anything. "Tomorrow?"

"Er, yeah, if you're feeling up to it," he said. I could tell he was eyeing my injuries.

"I'm fine," I said hastily. "Mum stitched me up pretty well. She says the swelling will go down before the end of the week. It looks worse than it feels." Actually, that last part was a lie. My face was growing increasingly sore every time I spoke.

"Just let your parents know where you're going," he said. "You know your Mum's going to go completely mental if she thinks you've snuck out to Ron's."

Just then there was a knock on the door.

"Gotta go," I said. "See you tomorrow."

When Sirius disappeared and his face was replaced with my own reflection, I couldn't help but feel a tugging in my chest. I was half-tempted to call Sirius again, just to be sure that he was really there. But then I remembered that nothing in this universe was real anyway, so I guess it didn't really matter.

"Come in," I called, suddenly remembering there had been a knock at the door.

It was Lily.

"You sure you're not hungry?" she asked, looking worried.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I said, trying to sound casual. "I ate a big lunch at Ron's earlier. You know how Mrs. Weasley is."

That seemed to relax her a little. "All right. I saved some leftovers for you if you change your mind and want to heat them up later."

"Yeah. Thanks, Mum." Wow, now that felt weird to say.

She hesitated in the doorway for a moment. "Okay. Well… goodnight."

"'Night, Mum."

She closed the door softly, and I turned back to my wreck of a room. As tempting as it was to stay in this world, I knew I should be getting back. What would the real Weasleys be saying? Or the Order? And what of Ron and Hermione?

I couldn't sleep that night. I spent the entire time going through the bedroom, and then when my family—or this other Harry's family, rather—had gone to sleep, I explored the house.

The main stairway was crammed with pictures, nearly all of which were of Ben and I: our first steps, first days at Hogwarts, family trips, holidays, and so forth. Most of them were wizarding photographs, but there were a few muggle ones in there as well. There were other people, too. I recognized Neville and his parents, Ron's family was there, and of course Lupin, Pettigrew, and Sirius. As I looked, however, I noticed that there weren't as many of Sirius as there were of the other two. I thought that was kind of strange, especially since the few of him appeared to be among the oldest.

The house was much larger than I had imagined it to be, though I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. Everyone had told me my parents' house had been a handsome place. The staircase emptied into a wide hallway that ran from the front entryway to the back dining room, which was equipped with enormous bay windows. There was a sitting room, a small office crammed with books that must belong to James, a living room, a tea parlor, and a guest bedroom. Nearly all the rooms were equipped with a fireplace, and they all had a different color of wallpaper and style of furniture.

I took everything in—the style of artwork my parents had selected, how messy one room was compared with another, and what kind of books and miscellaneous items lined the shelves and filled glass cabinets. I noticed there were several objects that I didn't recognize—they appeared to have been imported, though I couldn't tell from what country.

From the dining room, there was a narrow door that joined it to a kitchen. I had half expected it to be immaculate and well-presented like the rest of the house, but I was surprised to find it resembled Molly Weasley's kitchen. There were pots and pans hanging from a rack off the ceiling. Jars lined every available space on the countertop and on shelves, filled with everything from spices to baked goods. Areas that weren't taken up by dishes or food were adorned with roosters. There were ceramic ones next to the bread box, tin roosters nestled between china on the shelf, and a stained-glass one in the window above the sink. As I investigated, I found seventeen in all.

I poured myself a glass of water from the sink, and peered out the window. A large poplar tree was brushing against the brick wall of the house in the evening breeze. It was too dark to accurately judge, but I was sure that the property was just as expansive as the house.

It was incredibly tempting to just stay here and pretend to be this Harry—he seemed to have a good life. He had parents and a brother, a nice house, and a life completely void of Death Eaters and Voldemort. Sirius was still alive, and our friends were nearly the same. Things seemed so much simpler, and I felt a pang of anger. This could have been my life—_should _have been my life—if it weren't for Voldemort.

But then I remembered that I still had my own life, wherever that was. I'm sure my friends and the Order were thoroughly panicked by now, and I needed to hurry up and find a way out. I had no idea if Sirius could help me—I knew he wasn't the same Sirius I had known, but he was the only person I felt comfortable talking to. Maybe he would know something about alternate universes, and could explain what had happened to me.

As I stood in the dim lighting of the kitchen, I wondered what had happened to this world's Harry. Had he simply disappeared, or did we switch places? _That's _going to be a shock for him: his entire family, godfather included, would all be dead. _And _he would have the responsibility of being the wizarding world's savior, whatever that meant.

If we did switch places, did that mean the other Harry would also be trying to find a way back to his life? I wouldn't blame him—mine is hardly enviable.

After a while, the sky started to lighten to a dull grey-blue, and I decided to sneak back into my room. I laid down on the bed, staring at the ceiling as my room gradually lightened with the morning sun.


	2. Universe Switching Time Travel

Chapter two: Intergalactic universe-switching time-travel

It was ridiculously hot, a huge contrast to the windstorm from the previous day. Beads of sweat were starting to form at my temples, and I was beginning to wish I had worn shorts instead of jeans.

I stared at the addresses as I passed, comparing them to the slip of parchment in my hand. I turned a corner and found myself on a narrow one-way, tall trees obscuring the buildings on either side. Twenty feet up, there was a dark-haired man sitting on the stoop, crushing a cigarette butt.

"Sirius?" I called. A knot formed in my chest as I said his name, and I half expected the man to disappear into thin air.

The man looked up and smiled. "Hey, Harry."

This Sirius looked familiar to the one I knew, though much healthier. His frame was filled out and his skin wasn't white and papery. In fact, it was actually quite tanned, as though he regularly travelled to the south. Upon closer inspection, however, I saw that he still had the same tired expression and the same dull glint to his eyes.

I was about to mention how much nicer this neighborhood was in comparison to Grimmauld Place, but then I remembered that this universe's Harry had probably never step foot there.

The door to the building was propped open, as if to let in some air. Sirius led the way into the dim marbled corridor, and to an antique lift.

"How was term?" Sirius asked genially. "Your mum going to keep letting you play quidditch even after your accident?"

"Term was…good," I said, sure that this Harry's year didn't involve Voldemort or the death of his godfather. "I'd like to think I did really well on my O.W.L.'s, but with Snape teaching Potions, I'm not so sure." I said that last part without thinking, and immediately regretted it. What if Snape didn't teach Potions here?

Sirius didn't seem to think anything of it. "I'm sure you did fine—your mum was one of the best in our year, so all the notes she sent you must have helped. If not," he added casually, hitting the button to the top floor. "Your dad and I can always jump him."

I grinned at that.

The apartment was as different from Grimmauld Place as it was possible to be. The windows were huge, almost touching from floor to ceiling. The kitchen was filled with stainless muggle appliances, and the place had a very clean feeling to it, like it was rarely lived in.

"Can I get you anything?" Sirius asked, opening two of the enormous living room windows to let in some air. "Are you hungry at all?"

"I'm fine," I said, still looking around the apartment. The mantle over the fireplace held pictures of myself and Ben from our childhoods. Above this was a very expensive-looking muggle oil painting.

"Thirsty? I think I have some pumpkin juice in here somewhere."

"Yeah, that sounds great," I said distractedly. I didn't know what to do with myself, so I sat down on the sofa, still taking in my surroundings. Sirius' apartment looked like a very cool bachelor pad belonging to someone who travelled too much to really enjoy it. I turned and watched Sirius as he removed two glasses from the cabinet. His mannerisms were exactly the same as the ones belonging to the Sirius I knew. He handed me a cold glass, and I suddenly felt very thirsty. I hadn't noticed how hot it really was outside.

Sirius sat down on an adjacent chair, and I saw him looking at me out of the corner of my eye. I could tell he was curious, but like me, didn't know how to begin.

I took a deep breath and looked at him. "I…need your help," I finally said.

"Okay," he said simply, waiting for me to continue.

This is where I was stuck—how do I explain that I'm not from this universe, and didn't know how I got here? At least, that was the theory I was sticking to. The idea of Dark Magic re-creating a world just sounded like too much.

"I, er…something happened," I began vaguely, hoping to be inspired into saying the right thing.

He frowned slightly, but didn't interrupt. If Sirius was at all confused by my ambiguity, he didn't show it.

"You know how I've been having some funny memory issues lately?"

"Okay," said Sirius, straightening up. "Don't take this personally, but as your godfather, I have to ask—" He paused, then spoke as though he was trying a new foreign language. "You're not doing, er, drugs or anything, right? No experimenting with potions or spells-?"

"What? No," I said, taken aback. "No, no nothing like that."

He seemed to relax. _Don't get comfortable yet, _I though darkly.

"I don't remember certain things because, well, I'm not the same Harry." I paused. Here goes nothing. "As in I'm not the same Harry as this universe."

Sirius, whose eyes had been focused on the floor, slowly looked up at me.

"I don't know how it happened, or why," I said quickly, hoping to explain everything before Sirius interrupted. "But suddenly I was here, and everything was different, and I feel like I need to tell somebody or I will explode. I mean, are alternate universes a thing? Has this happened before?"

I took a deep breath and waited for Sirius to say something. Instead he just sat there quietly, a crease between his eyebrows.

"Have you, er, told your parents any of this?" he finally asked.

I snorted. "Are you kidding? They already think I'm off my rocker by forgetting minor details like how I have a brother. Mum's already worried I've sustained some kind of brain injury since my quidditch accident—which I haven't," I added hastily, before I could incriminate myself. "I just…don't know what to do. I mean, I'm enjoying having my parents around and everything, but I think I need to get back—to my universe, I mean."

Sirius was watching me with a mixed expression of confusion and slight alarm.

"You have to promise not to tell anyone," I continued, filling the awkward silence. I was glad to be holding the glass; otherwise I'd be wringing my hands, and that would definitely make me look crazy. "Especially Mum and Dad. They'll freak out."

Sirius nodded once, very slowly. "And... if you're a different Harry, then where is the first one?"

I snorted. "Probably in my life, I expect," I said darkly. "Though I think he got the short end of the stick in this switch. A dead family and Death Eaters must come as a real shock to him—"

"Death Eaters?" Sirius asked suddenly, sounding taken aback.

"Yeah, you know." Just as I said it, a sudden thought came to my head—maybe Voldemort simply never existed in this universe. "Dark wizards? They follow—"

"I know what they are," said Sirius, his frown deepening. "I'm just surprised you do. I haven't heard that term in almost twenty years. They've mostly been forgotten, even by people old enough to remember them."

"Oh," I said, feeling incredibly uncomfortable under Sirius' gaze. "Well, they're pretty rampant where I'm from. So's Voldemort, nowadays."

There was a pained silence. I could tell Sirius didn't know whether to think I was insane or an imposter. I'm sure I would think I was insane if I were him; I'm actually quite surprised at how calm he's been able to stay. "I know it's really weird," I said. Ugh, there was a pleading note to my voice. All I needed to do now was throw in some tears. "But I swear I'm not lying or, you know, brain-damaged. I can prove it.

"You ran away at sixteen," I said, wracking my brain for things I was sure this universe's Harry couldn't know. "You lived in Grimmauld Place, and had a house-elf named Kreacher, who's really unpleasant. There are Dark objects everywhere in that house, and elf heads mounted on the walls. You told me your aunt started that tradition. I have a cursed scar," I added, moving my hair away from my forehead to show him. "It's from Voldemort, so the other Harry can't possibly have it." I briefly considered throwing in the fact that I could speak Parseltongue, but then remembered that the ability was generally considered the mark of a Dark wizard. I didn't need Sirius thinking I was some kind of imposter.

Sirius rubbed his temples, eyes closed. I waited in silence; with each minute that passed, I felt like this was a bigger mistake.

"This is going to take some time to, er, sink in," he finally said, looking up at me. He looked more tired than ever. "And if you really, really don't want me to, I won't tell your parents," he added. He sounded like he was agreeing to this against his better judgment. "But I do have one question…why did you come to me? I mean," he added hastily, trying to explain. "It's not that I mind or anything, but…why not Remus or the Weasleys, if not your parents?"

I must have looked incredulous, because then Sirius said quickly, "I mean, I don't mind that you have. I'm just…surprised."

"In my real life, you're the only family I have," I said dully. "My parents are dead; Ben was never born." And now you're dead, too.

Sirius looked at me with a heavy expression. There was a crease between his eyebrows. He gave a shaky sigh, then said, "So…do you, er, know how you got here?"

"No," I said dully. "I can barely even remember what I had been doing right before showing up here suddenly."

"When did you…switch over?" Sirius asked slowly, like each word was completely bizarre to him.

"Right when I came to after the quidditch accident," I said, fully aware of how bad that sounded. A logical person would assume a brain injury was far more likely than intergalactic universe-switching time-travel, or whatever was going on here.

Sirius nodded, clearly trying to understand. I had to give him credit. I would just think that I was barking mad.

"And what am I like in your, er, other life?" he asked, trying to lighten the tone of the conversation.

I felt a pang in my chest at the question, but tried to disregard it. "You turned out all right. I didn't meet you until I was thirteen, and I thought you were a murderer—"

"I'm a what?"

"It's another really, really long story," I said quickly. "But we got that straightened up, and finally got to know each other. Due to forces beyond our control—Voldemort," I added as clarification. "you never got to raise me, but we were close." I cleared my throat awkwardly. Even though Sirius was sitting right in front of me, it was still painful to talk about him. It was a weird thing to think that Sirius was both dead and alive at the same time.

"Okay, you really need to explain this to me," said Sirius, straightening up. "In your other life, your parents are dead and I'm a murderer. And you're really keeping in touch with a murderer?" he added, a scolding tone to his voice.

"You're not a real murderer," I said hastily. Then I added, "Everyone just thought you were." The look on Sirius' face told me clearly enough that I needed to explain.

"Okay, well, in my universe Voldemort tried to take over," I began, trying to simplify everything as much as I could. "And he had all these Death Eaters and allies—everyone was afraid of him, and people kept disappearing and dying. Then there was a prophecy made, about him and a baby—" I gave Sirius the general idea of the story. I wasn't sure whether to include the fact that it had been Pettigrew who had betrayed them all, especially since it appeared they were all still friends in this universe. Eventually I decided on including that detail, if only because Sirius would ask anyway.

"So I went to live with the Dursleys after that. I didn't even know I was a wizard until I got my Hogwarts letter," I finished. "And then when I was thirteen, you broke out of Azkaban, and that's when we met. So…that's that, then." I didn't want to launch into the other story of how Pettigrew was really Scabbers, and how I had tried, embarrassingly enough, to attack Sirius and kill him.

Sirius was sitting across from me, a strange expression on his face. It was then I noticed that the sun was setting outside, and an evening breeze was making the apartment a little chilly. Sirius must have noticed this too, for he closed most of the windows and turned on some lights.

"Do you think I'm completely insane?" I blurted out.

Sirius looked over at me. He took a deep breath, then said, "I don't know what to believe, honestly. My instinct says you hit your head in your quidditch game, and another part of me was hoping it really was as simple as a phase of teenage experimentation, but…" he shrugged. "I don't know. Anything's possible, I suppose."

I didn't know how to feel about that. Sirius didn't say he believed me, but he didn't _dis_believe me, either. At least there was that.

"Are you hungry at all?" Sirius asked, moving to the kitchen.

"Er, yeah," I said, remembering I hadn't eaten since that morning. Lily had forced me to eat a bigger share of breakfast than the others since I had missed out on dinner the previous night.

Sirius placed a pan on the gas stove, which switched on automatically. As Sirius cooked, he asked me about my real life: did I have the same friends, did I still play Quidditch… Like the Sirius I knew, I found it was very easy to talk to him. Darkness had fallen long ago, and I was still surprised when Sirius said I should probably get back home before my parents worried.

"Can I come see you again tomorrow?" I asked.

Sirius looked surprised at that, but quickly changed his expression. "I have some errands to run tomorrow, but you're welcome to come if you really want to. It won't be that exciting."

"Yeah, I do," I sad earnestly. We had talked about me all day, and I was curious to know everything about this Sirius. The Sirius I knew had also had such rotten luck in life that it was nice to think that, in one way or another, he also had a chance at normalcy.

"I'll pick you up at nine, then," he said. "That too early?" he added with a smirk. "Usually you're in bed until one in the afternoon."

"No, I'll be up," I assured him, placing my plate in the sink.

"I think the station's closed for the night," he said, checking his watch. "I'll have to take you home by apparition."

"No fireplace?" I asked, already sure of the answer. I hated the feeling of disapparating.

"Sorry, no fireplace," he said, setting his own dishes in the sink. He dried off his hands with a towel, and held out his arm. "Don't throw up."

I felt an uncomfortable combination of being squeezed in all directions and spinning very fast. A split second later, however, I found myself standing on the lane in front of my parent's house. It was late, but all the lights were still on.

I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling dinner starting to churn in the pit of my stomach.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow," Sirius said, placing his hands in his pockets.

I turned to him, frowning. "Don't you want to come in?"

Sirius hesitated. Before he could answer, the front door opened.

"We were wondering when you'd get home," James called, stepping out into the porchlight. "I see you've finally convinced your evasive godfather to come along with you," he added in a teasing tone.

Sirius followed me up the walkway to the house. "Hey, Prongs," he said, nodding.

"Nice to see you again, Padfoot," James said sincerely. There was a look on his face that seemed to say that Sirius had a lot of explaining to do. "Come in," he added, beckoning us towards the house.

Sirius and I followed James into the kitchen, where Lily was kneading dough roughly. She looked surprised and pleased to see Sirius, but this quickly switched to annoyance.

"It's almost eleven!" she said scoldingly. "I hope you fed my boy, at least?"

"Still stress-baking, I see," Sirius noted. "What, did you think I had kidnapped him? Yeah, I gave Harry some beetles for dinner," he added in response to Lily's question. This appeared to be some kind of running joke, because Lily let slip a smile as she shook her head at him. She put a kettle of water on the stove, and began boiling water for tea.

"Hey, Padfoot—come with me for a moment. I want to show you something," said James. He and Sirius exchanged the briefest of glances before disappearing from the kitchen.

Lily shut off the tap and turned to me. "How was your visit?"

"Good," I said, forcing a yawn. "I'm pretty beat, though, and Sirius is going to pick me up in the morning. I should get to bed."

"Okay, sweetheart," she said. For a moment, she looked as though she wanted to say something. But then she kissed the top of my head, which was almost impossible since I was taller than her.

I made a show of going heavily up the staircase. As soon as I reached the second floor landing, I slipped off my shoes and crept into the spare bedroom. I had seen a vent in the floor the previous night that peered right into James' office.

Sure enough, a small dim light shone through the vent on the floor across the room. I laid down with my head pressed next to it, listening.

"…completely curious," James was saying.

"Yeah, I was kind of taken aback, too," Sirius admitted. I inched closer to the vent; Sirius spoke so quietly it was difficult to hear him.

"So…what did he say? Are you two talking again?"

"I think so," Sirius replied slowly. "At least until he remembers that he hates me."

I froze up at this. Since when did I hate Sirius? Or rather—the other Harry?

"He doesn't hate you," James countered placatingly.

There was a low chuckle. "Remember last Christmas, where he shouted it for everyone to hear? I think it's a safe venture to assume he hates me."

There was some kind of movement outside the office, because then Sirius and James fell silent. I distantly heard Lily's voice, but it was too difficult to make out her exact words. I think she was telling them to move to the kitchen, but then I heard my name somewhere in the mix.

"We'll be there in a moment, thanks, dear," came James' voice.

There was another pause, then he continued, "Since it's my parental right to intrude—"

"He's not experimenting with potions or anything," Sirius interrupted. "I already checked."

I rolled my eyes at that.

"Er, not quite the direction I was going in, but that's certainly good to know," James said. "I was just curious what the two of you talked about."

My stomach knotted. Was Sirius going to tell him I was completely mad, and had been going off about being from another universe?

Sirius hesitated. "Nothing significant, really," he finally said. "He told me about his quidditch accident, of course. Then we mostly talked about school. I asked how his last year went."

I had to commend Sirius for his ability to lie without really lying. Technically everything he just said was the truth. Granted, there were a few significant details left out, but he hadn't made something up.

"Huh," said James thoughtfully. "Well, I guess maybe it's not completely awful he's lost his memory—don't get me wrong. As his dad, I'm still freaking out inside," he added. "But for a while there, Lily and I were worried you two would never make up. This is kind of like a second chance—"

"Until he gets his memory back, you mean," said Sirius darkly.

"Eh, well, maybe it won't matter by then. Maybe he'll fly into another tree," he added jokingly.

I shook my head, rolling my eyes at that.

Someone sighed. I think it was James. "I don't know how long this will last—if it lasts. But I do hope you'll at least take advantage of it. You and Harry have hardly spoken in years, and not a word since Christmas. I know you're skeptical, but I hope you'll at least try."

"You make me sound like the bad guy."

I could practically feel James rolling his eyes. "That's not how I meant—"

"Yeah, yeah," said Sirius. "Don't do anything stupid to make Harry hate—okay, fine, _dislike_—me. Again. I've got you."

"You're not going to say anything about how you and Harry don't get on anymore, are you?"

"Not if you don't want me to," Sirius answered. "Although I'd feel like I was lying to him."

"He's just stubborn, like his godfather," James countered. "And he's angry, and he's a teenager. He'll grow out of it. And when he does, he'll need you around to help him deal with everything he would rather die over than tell his parents about."

I heard the sound of movement, and then the office door opened once more.

"…find Lily," I managed to hear James say. It sounded as though they were heading back towards the kitchen.

When I was sure they were gone, I got to my feet and silently crept back towards my bedroom, which was still a huge mess from the night before. Sitting on top of the messy bedcovers was a letter from Ron.

_Hey, Harry_

_Hope you're feeling all right and that your parents didn't go too hard on you. Mum's grounded the rest of us for a month—all for a game of Quidditch! Anyway, hope your prison sentence isn't as long as ours. Hey, maybe they'll see the accident as punishment enough, you know?_

_See you on the train in September, since we're no longer allowed out,_

_Ron._

I couldn't help but smile to myself a little at that. As bizarre as this universe was, Ron was still Ron.

I laid down on my bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking heavily. So this Harry and this Sirius never got along? That was so strange to think. By what James had said, it sounded like something that had happened. Apparently something big enough that the other Harry would stop talking to Sirius altogether.

It was especially strange because I hadn't run across a single thing in reading the other Harry's journal. The most unusual thing I could find was that Sirius wasn't mentioned as often, and that his photos weren't as plentiful in the stairwell. Was that because the other Harry had tried to keep him away? Sirius wasn't a bad guy—what on earth happened to make this other Harry think he was?

It was then I remembered the pages scribbled over so heavily that it was impossible to read what was once there. That must be where the other Harry had talked about all this. But why had he scribbled over it?

I rolled onto my side, staring at the mess of clothes and random objects that littered the floor. It was impossible to imagine that in a universe where I had my family and there were no Death Eaters I appeared to hate my godfather. It was completely insane.

I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep once again that night, so instead I plotted how to get the information from Sirius tomorrow.

* * *

><p>The next morning was a bit of a blur. I ate breakfast quickly, trying not to stare at Ben. He looked exactly like me, except that he had James' eyes and Lily's nose. He didn't have glasses though, so that was another difference. He seemed to be only half-awake however; his hair was sticking up in every direction and it looked as though all his attention was focused on eating. I was glad for this, because I felt Ben—or Benjamin Sirius Potter, as I heard my mum yell at him that morning—wouldn't overlook the obvious differences between me and the other Harry quite as much.<p>

Right at nine, Sirius showed up. He was dressed in a cool mix of tailored muggle clothes and old sneakers. He smiled at me when I opened the door, but I still caught the slightly nervous look in his eye. I had to try very hard not to blurt out my demand for answers right then—my parents still didn't know the Harrys had switched universes.

"Thanks for babysitting, Padfoot," chided James, leaning comfortably against the doorframe while I hastily tied my shoes. "Mind taking some of my robes to Madam Malkin's while you're out?"

"Hem your own bloody robes," Sirius replied, hands in his pockets. "You ready, Harry?"

James leaned past Sirius and peered out into the drive. "No motorbike?" he whispered, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

"Lily will kill me," Sirius reminded him, following me down the steps. "See you later, Prongs."

"Don't lose him!" James called loudly.

I saw Sirius roll his eyes and smile a little at that. "You can make another one!" he called, opening the iron gate and stepping back to allow me to pass.

We were standing on the empty lane just outside the house. "Your vote," said Sirius, looking at me. "Knight Bus or apparition."

It was like being asked if I would rather drown in cold water or drown in lukewarm water. Of course, this Knight Bus could be different from the one I knew, but I doubted it, somehow. I don't think the conductors of the Knight Bus drove gently, regardless of the universe. "Uh, apparition, I guess."

Sirius held out his arm, and a moment later, I felt like I was being turned inside out.

I stumbled when we reappeared, and Sirius had to grab me to keep me from falling over.

"Gotta get used to it," he said, his voice betraying his amusement. "You're going to be learning to disapparate this year."

"Isn't there a better way to travel?" I asked, trying to keep my breakfast down.

Sirius shrugged, leading the way out of the alley and toward what I recognized as the Leaky Cauldron. "You'll get used to it."

I doubted that very much. The only thing worse than disapparition were Portkeys.

We passed through the Leaky Cauldron, and I felt as though I had been wearing my invisibility cloak. Not a single person turned to look at Sirius or me. In my universe, either of us passing through a public wizarding space would have caused an uproar. No one stared at me as we passed, no one whispered behind their hands, and I found I rather enjoyed the invisibility. Before, I was only able to pass unnoticed in the muggle world.

"You okay, there?" Sirius asked me.

"What?" I said, turning to look at him. I realized Sirius had been watching me. We passed through the back door and entered the familiar alley with the brick wall. "Er, yeah. It's just weird."

"What is?"

I shrugged. "Well, no one's staring," I said, looking over my shoulder at the wall of the pub. "In my world, that never would have happened. Boy-Who-Lived, and all. And you, too—you were the only person known to escape Azkaban."

Sirius nodded, as though unsure of how to respond to this. I was so desperate for someone to understand this bizarre situation that I forgot Sirius wasn't entirely accustomed to the idea yet. Maybe I should be more careful when I started talking about things that sounded completely crazy to the people of this universe.

We walked through Diagon Alley just as ordinary and invisible as we were in the Leaky Cauldron. We stopped off at Gringott's first, then made our way through the village from there. We examined the goods sold by street vendors, window-shopped in some of the stores too strange to enter, and strolled down the cobbled lanes. I kept looking at Sirius, who looked so unaware of how bizarre the scene was: Sirius Black, notorious mass murderer, walking casually through Diagon Alley on a summer's day. I couldn't help but smile.

We passed by the Quidditch store after lunch, where a group of students I vaguely recognized were huddled against the window, staring at the latest model Firebolt displayed in the window.

"In my world, you bought me that broom for Christmas," I noted as we looked through the glass over the younger students' heads. "Of course, everyone thought you had cursed it—it took a while before they would give it back to me."

"I bought you that broom here, too," Sirius noted.

I looked up at him, slightly surprised. It was the first time Sirius had made any comment acknowledging that I was in fact from a different world rather than just crazy.

Sirius must have felt me looking at him. He glanced at me and smiled, a little sad. "I convinced your dad to say it was from him—otherwise I don't think you would have accepted it."

I frowned. "Sirius, about that…"

"Come on," he said, leading me away from the window. "We still need to head to Mimi's."

"Mimi's?" I said, confused. I was sure that shop had never existed in Diagon Alley.

"Madam Ingrid's Magical Imports," Sirius clarified. "Everyone just calls it Mimi's."

We walked down the busy street in a heavy silence for several moments. I had been fighting with myself all morning; on one hand, I wanted to know why Sirius and the other Harry didn't get along. On the other, I just wanted to enjoy the day with Sirius. In my world, I never got a real chance to do that.

Mimi's was located just around the corner from the Apothecary. I recognized the building immediately, but in my universe, it had been a cauldron supply shop. The store smelled strongly of incense and was crammed with the most bizarre array of objects, nearly all of which I didn't recognize. There were stacks of intricately-carved furniture, whistling silver objects, floating lanterns, and row upon row of things I couldn't place a name to. Sirius picked up a large package wrapped in brown paper from the counter while I browsed the shelves.

"Some of this stuff is wildly overpriced," he whispered, coming up alongside me a few minutes later. He picked up the strange set of glass runes I had been examining. "Like this. They go for less than a Galleon in Peru."

"You've been to Peru?" I asked, surprised.

"About a dozen times," said Sirius, setting it back on the shelf. "Though I haven't been there recently."

I glanced around to make sure that no one was eavesdropping, then said in an undertone, "I couldn't help but notice…at my house—or the other Harry's house—there aren't a lot of photos of you."

I was testing him, but Sirius kept his face remarkably impassive. He would have made a good Auror. "I'm usually not around a lot," he said carefully.

I stared at him, frowning. "Why not?"

Sirius looked at me, a searching expression on his face. For a moment, I was sure he knew I had eavesdropped on him and James the previous night. He sighed, then said, shrugging, "A lot of reasons, I guess. None of which are good ones," he added.

He was being impressively vague. I wanted to jump right to the point and ask him why the other Harry hated him, but I didn't want to give myself away. I wasn't supposed to know that.

"What's one of them?" I pressed.

Sirius gave me a wry smile. "Why do you ask?" he said.

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. "Well, compared to my world, it's completely bizarre. Like I said, you're my only real family. I mean, I suppose there are the Dursleys," I relented. "But they hate me, so I don't really count that. But it's weird, you know? Like yesterday, you were surprised that I wanted to talk to you over Lupin or the Weasleys. And even my dad was surprised."

Sirius took a steadying breath, obviously thinking over his answer. I was sure he was going to cave, but then he said, "I guess we just kind of drifted apart over the years. And it's not just you, it's all of us," he added. He shrugged. "It's just touch and go."

I was sure he was lying, but I couldn't bring myself to admit I had been eavesdropping. There's no way that was the real answer—if everyone had fallen out of contact, then why were there still pictures of Lupin and Pettigrew in the house? Why would I apparently be the only one mad at Sirius out of my entire family? It wasn't adding up, but Sirius obviously wasn't going to tell me. I would have to find out another way.

"Can we hang out again tomorrow?" I asked when we exited the shop and began to make our way toward the Leaky Cauldron. "If you're not busy, I mean."

Sirius hesitated, but quickly recovered. Not quick enough, though. "Yeah, sure. I'll come get you again after lunch."

I wanted to try to get more information out of Sirius, but he was proving difficult to crack. It was maddening. Plus, I also just wanted to hang out with him. In my universe, all our meetings had to be secret and were always under the threat of Sirius being caught. I had never been able to just walk around Diagon Alley with him before.

And finally—as lame as it was to admit to myself—I just wanted to be around him more. Whenever I returned to normal, or went back to my world, whatever—Sirius would go back to being dead. It felt weird being around him when I wasn't sure if any of it was real, but I couldn't help myself. I wanted to see him as much as possible before it all went away again. I felt a little guilty that I only felt this way toward Sirius. I was definitely curious about my parents, but I had never known them.

Sirius dropped me off at my parents' house. The _other _Harry's house, I should say. Lily was in the kitchen, preparing dinner. She made small talk about my day with Sirius. If she thought it was weird that we were hanging out, she didn't show it at all. It was my dad, an hour later, who gave away hints that it wasn't typical.

"You two gonna hang out again?" he asked, sipping a glass of red wine.

I forced myself to shrug, trying to make myself look casual. It was weird to sit at a table of dead people—especially dead people I never really knew in life. "Yeah, after lunch tomorrow."

James looked at me a little too long. I could see him watching me out of my periphery vision. "Okay," he said, turning back to his plate. "How's your face feeling, by the way?"

"Wh—oh, much better," I said. I had nearly forgotten about the fact that I had broken my nose. My black eye had healed quickly enough in the last forty-eight hours, and there were no other visible signs of trauma. "Doesn't hurt anymore."

When I retreated to my mess of a room that night, I picked up the journal and searched through it, looking for any mention of Sirius' name. He wasn't there. There were giant black scribbles and entire pages torn out, but there was no way for me to know what had once been there. I set the notebook on the nightstand, thinking heavily.

I knew I should have been focusing all my energy on getting back to my world, but I had no idea where to begin. Since Hermione and I were apparently not friends, I would have to wait until term to enlist her help. It might come off as a little weird to write her in the middle of the summer if we never really spoke before. That left me with Sirius, but it was hard to stay focused with this bizarre new knowledge of the other Harry's great dislike of him.

Granted I didn't know what the other Harry was like, but surely he couldn't have been too different from me. After all, everyone else here was more or less the same. I couldn't think of any reason why _I _would hate Sirius, so why would he?

I went downstairs at half-past eight the next morning, and found James sitting at the small breakfast table in the kitchen, reading the paper. Sitting next to him was a sealed letter addressed to me, and I immediately recognized Sirius' handwriting. Without preamble, I pulled it toward me and tore it open. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw James look around his paper at me.

_Harry,_

_I'm sorry this is last minute, but I have to cancel on our plans today. I have an emergency at work, and I don't know when I'll be back._

_If I don't see you before then, have a good rest of your summer, and a good school year. Tell everyone I say hi._

_Sirius_

I flipped it over, almost expecting to see more, but the back of the letter was empty.

"I have an emergency at work, and I don't know when I'll be back," I read aloud. I looked up at James, who was still watching me. "What does that mean? Where does he work?"

James slowly set down the mug of coffee he was drinking from. "With the Ministry."

"Doing what?"

"You know, I'm not sure he even knows," said James vaguely.

I stared at him.

"He originally worked with Gringott's, doing something with codes and curse-breaking," explained James. "He was really good at it, so the Ministry offered him work involving something with internal security. The last I heard, he was involved in some kind of international job. He's never said what. Remus and I have got a bet going that he's an Unspeakable, or is at least doing work for them—Sirius can't say if he was, of course. It's the first rule of the job."

"Does he always disappear like this?" I asked, tossing the letter aside on the table.

"Yes," said James, turning back to his paper. "All the time. Your godfather is an enigma."


	3. Summer

Chapter three:

* * *

><p>The rest of the summer seemed to pass in a strange juxtaposition. On one hand, it was dragging on slowly. I knew I needed to get back to my world, and each day that passed was another day where the people in my real universe were freaking out. No doubt if the other Harry and I had truly switched places, Mad-Eye Moody would be convinced he was an imposter. And yet, on the other hand, I was greatly enjoying life here. Lily was worried that I still hadn't regained my "memory," but I made extra care while I was around her to put on a good show of normalcy. Ben and James didn't seem particularly worried, much to Lily's annoyance, but I still caught them stealing glances at me from time to time.<p>

I read the other Harry's journal every night. I had spent the first several days skimming over the thing so that I could get a general idea of what the other Harry's life was like, and now I had moved on to reading it word for word.

His life was incredibly ordinary. In first year, he had met Ron on the train, same as me. But there was no one after the Stone, and no misadventures into the forbidden corridor. Draco Malfoy was still a git, and Snape was still the ill-tempered Potions master. Quirrel taught Defense Against the Dark Arts, but it appeared he had suffered a nervous break-down after a pack of Blast-Ended Skrewts inadvertently made its way into his vegetable garden. As a result, Lockhart took over in second year, only to be quickly replaced by someone named Norman Lewis, an elderly man who still apparently taught at Hogwarts.

I went through the other Harry's old textbooks, which all stopped at year five.

But I would be seventeen next month. So I was a whole year behind, too? I hastily checked my reflection in the mirror. I supposed I looked the same as I did before—but I _felt _older.

This was weird.

Late July rolled around, and I still hadn't heard from Sirius, which bothered me. My family—his family—didn't seem to think anything of it, however. I had asked James if I could write him, and if he knew the address.

"No owl will be able to find him," said James. "I've already tried it a hundred times."

I frowned. "Why not?"

"Security, probably. Owls coming and going to wherever he is will attract attention, especially if he's in a part of the world where it isn't common."

"The world?" I repeated, stunned. What exactly did Sirius do for work? Next time I saw him, I'd make a mental note to ask.

"Oh, yeah. You see that vase over there?" he said, pointing across the room. "Sirius brought us that five years ago from somewhere in Africa. And the bowl on that bookshelf there came from Chile."

Each morning I had half-expected to wake up at the Dursleys as usual, but of course nothing had changed. While it was still weird, I was getting used to it surprisingly fast. If anything, I was more worried about the fact that I _wasn't _worried at all. Was it because in this world, I had my parents and Sirius back?

Every once in a while I caught myself coming dangerously close to thinking about what it would be like to stay here. I could fix the things that were off; befriend Hermione, repair the strange relationship with Sirius… But it wouldn't be right; this wasn't where I belonged. I had to force the thoughts away and focus on my two problems at hand. One couldn't be resolved without help, so I would need to wait until I could speak to Hermione. The other, which I had expected would be easy to solve, turned out to be just as difficult. No one betrayed any real clues that the other Harry hated Sirius, and unless I asked them outright, they wouldn't.

This left the month to pass in a sort of strange funk. Ben was in and out of the house a lot; apparently his best friend lived down the road. My parents were typically working, so I was given free reign of the house a majority of the time. It was only a shame that Ron was grounded; I'd have liked the company of a familiar face.

With only two days to go until my seventeenth—er, sixteenth birthday, I received two letters in the mail. The first was the usual letter from McGonagall about the start of term, but the second was hastily scrawled out. Definitely not her handwriting. I tore it open and felt my eyes widen.

_Harry,_

_Congratulations! You're Quidditch Captain! I've had a good think about this, and I've decided on you to replace me. In addition to the normal requirements as Captain, you're also in charge of replacing your team. Katie and I have left now, but I'm sure you'll have no trouble scouting a new Chaser and Keeper._

_Sorry that it's taken me so long to send this out—I've been training for my new team all summer. Puddlemore United!_

_Oliver Wood_

Huh. That's all I could think. _Wow. _If I wasn't jealous of the other Harry's life before, I certainly was now. I folded the letter back up and set it down on my desk, which was now cleaned up. I suddenly thought of Ron, and wondered if he was still Prefect in this world. No doubt Hermione was.

I quickly scrawled out a letter to Ron, informing him of the news, and nearly addressed a second to Hermione before I remembered. It was definitely weird not having her as a friend in this universe. Well, as soon as term started, that would all change.

When my parents returned home—_the other Harry's parents, _I had to remind myself—I told them the news. My dad was ecstatic, but my mum was more worried. Clearly she hadn't forgotten about my accident with the tree.

"See, I knew you'd be made Captain," James said, clapping me on the shoulder, grinning. He turned to Lily. "We should celebrate! Have Moony and Wormtail over! I'd say the Weasleys, too, but I'm pretty sure Ron's still grounded, right?" he added, turning to me.

"Yeah, I think so," I said. I couldn't stop smiling, but something felt oddly bittersweet about it. This was the world I should have had.

"What do you say, Evans?" James asked, deliberately using Lily's old nickname teasingly. "We celebrated when Harry became Prefect—"

"We celebrated because Harry had more sense than you at that age," said Lily, but she was smiling. She finished unloading the groceries she had picked up at the market on her way home and came around the island counter to hug me. "Congratulations, Harry, that's such exciting news! Have you told Ron yet?"

"Yeah—I sent him a letter," I said distractedly. So I _had _become Prefect in this world. I didn't know whether to be elated or nervous. I remembered guiltily about how jealous I had been of Ron when he received the letter; would he feel any differently here, given that I was Prefect _and _Quidditch Captain? Granted Ron wasn't on the team, but still…I hadn't forgotten what Ron had seen in the Mirror of Erised back in our first year.

We ended up celebrating on my birthday since it was so close. Lily had gone out of her way to hang decorations on all the surfaces of the first floor. There were color-changing balloons, musical streamers, and double banners: the first read "Happy Birthday!" shortly followed by "Congratulations!" There was a cake and all my favorite foods, and a small table of presents from my family and friends. I couldn't stop smiling. Even if all we did was sit around doing nothing, I could have been content. I had never celebrated a birthday with my family before, unless I counted my very first year.

Lupin and Pettigrew both showed up, grinning and gifts in hand. It was easy enough to see Lupin again, but I felt my chest tighten at the sight of Pettigrew. I had to keep telling myself that it wasn't the same world, that this Peter had never betrayed my parents. But if Voldemort came knocking suddenly, would he still give them up? I couldn't stop thinking like that when I was around him, so I made a mental note to avoid Pettigrew as much as possible. Luckily, this wasn't too difficult as James, Lupin, and Pettigrew all hung around each other on the far side of the room, cracking jokes.

The Longbottoms showed as well, which was almost as strange as seeing my dad laughing with Pettigrew. Alice came in first, hair cropped short, and hugged Lily. She was quickly followed by her husband Frank, and their son, Neville.

"Happy birthday, Harry," said Neville, catching my eye as they came through the front entryway.

"Thanks," I called. "You too."

The Weasley children were still grounded, so they weren't allowed to come. But even so, the house was pleasantly cheerful. Lily was chatting animatedly with Alice while Frank joined James and the others on the far side of the room. I was working my way through seconds when the front door opened again, this time to reveal—

"Sirius!" called Lily happily, catching sight of him. "We didn't think you were coming!"

Sirius smiled nervously, as though uncomfortable by all the sets of eyes that suddenly turned on to him. "I just got back an hour ago," he said, shutting the door behind himself.

"Well, help yourself to some food!" said Lily, pointing toward the buffet table. "We haven't cut cake yet, so you're just in time."

Sirius grinned at me as he approached, a badly-wrapped package in his hands. He held it out to me. "Happy birthday, Harry."

"Thanks," I said, smiling. If Hermione and the Weasleys could be here, then it would be perfect.

"And," he said in an undertone, reaching into his pocket. He glanced around to make sure no one could see. "Don't let your mum see," he said, setting a small leathery pouch in my hand. "I don't think she'd approve."

"What is it?" I asked, turning it over in my fingers. I could feel a small, thin object inside.

"Don't open it here," he said in an undertone, helping himself to the food. "The pouch is enchanted moleskin—only you can reach inside and pull out whatever's there. I've added a charm of my own, so you can fit just about anything in there, provided it's no bigger than the Knight Bus."

"What's inside?" I asked, pocketing the moleskin pouch and setting the other present on the table with the others.

"It's called a Key of Solomon," said Sirius. "I found it in Israel. It will open any lock, even if the lock is charmed."

"That doesn't sound so bad," I said. I glanced around the room, and caught at least three people watching us. They all quickly turned back to their conversational partner. Okay, so now it was clear that everyone in this room knew something about the other Harry's relationship with Sirius that I didn't. Annoyed, I briefly entertained the idea of whether or not they were expecting me to start shouting at Sirius. They probably did.

"Well, technically it's a banned object," said Sirius, shrugging. "It's not Dark or anything—it's just that it can easily fall into the hands of thieves and the like. That's why I got the moleskin pouch to go with it."

"Thanks," I said appreciatively. I thought of the penknife Sirius had purchased for me two years ago, how it had been able to undo any lock. It seemed the two Sirius Blacks thought exactly the same.

Sirius looked around the room and caught sight of the two different banners. "I get the 'happy birthday' one, but what's 'congratulations' about?" he asked.

"I was made Quidditch Captain," I said, still hardly able to believe it. Well, technically it was the other Harry who was made Quidditch Captain, but he wasn't here. And since I was pretty much filling in the missing spot in his own life, I might as well say it was me.

"That explains it," said Sirius thoughtfully. "For a moment I thought it was 'nice one on surviving Quidditch accidents long enough to see your sixteenth birthday.' Well, congratulations, Harry. But now your dad isn't going to stop giving you pointers on how to run the team."

"Of course I'm going to," said James, coming up behind Sirius. "Griffindor went undefeated for an entire year because of me."

"Not because you slipped a Puking Potion into the Slytherin team's pumpkin juice?" Sirius asked, eyebrows raised.

"Definitely not," said James, picking a skewer off of Sirius' plate and taking a bite. "Though I don't envy the elves who had to clean up the quidditch pitch. So, Padfoot," he continued in an amused undertone so that only Sirius and myself could hear. "What were you slipping my son a minute ago?"

"Acromantula seeds," replied Sirius without missing a beat.

James grinned, leaning against the table so that he had a perfect view of the rest of the room and all its occupants. "It's not the you-know-what we had talked about last Christmas, was it?"

"Maybe," said Sirius, his tone deliberately vague.

James turned to me, smiling. "Don't let your mother see," he said quietly, echoing Sirius. "So what's the word on those Persian rugs?" he added in a normal tone.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "James, do you know what it would look like to smuggle a magic carpet into England?"

James waved his hand dismissively. "You've got the motorbike, and they don't raise a fuss about that. Surely that would qualify a visit from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office—"

"I suppose it would, if they knew about it," said Sirius, pulling his plate away from James, who had been about to steal a second skewer. "I just don't understand why you want one—"

"Well, on a broom you can only fit one person," said James. "And sometimes Lily and I'd like to go on a nice Sunday ride."

"Yeah, right."

"So you gonna tell me where you've been?" James asked, but something about his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

"Work," said Sirius flatly, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

That reminded me. "Sirius, where do you work, exactly?" I asked.

He turned to me. "I do work for the Ministry. Mostly international stuff, so I travel a lot."

"What do you do?" I asked. I caught James' eye, and he mouthed the word "Unspeakable" before giving me a thumbs up. I tried not to grin.

Before Sirius had a chance to answer, Lupin and Pettigrew approached.

"Haven't seen you in forever," said Pettigrew to Sirius. "Prongs here has been so bored that he's actually behaving himself."

Sirius grinned at that. I, however, felt my chest tighten. How bizarre it was to have the four of them here, talking like the best of friends. Well, they _are _the best of friends, I reminded myself. The short man next to me may still be Pettigrew, but he wasn't the one I knew and it wouldn't be fair to hate him as if he were.

That, of course, was easier said than done. Knowing it would be too difficult to fake a smile and act casual, I slipped out, pretending to fill a cup of pumpkin juice from the far end of the buffet table. Sirius noticed, and we locked eyes for a second. Suddenly the pleasantly warm atmosphere shifted, and it was back to this simple fact: I was not the Harry that belonged here. Sirius glanced at Pettigrew for a split second before turning back to me, clearly guessing what I was feeling. I still didn't know if he thought I was off my rocker, but he obviously remembered my story for he kept Pettigrew occupied and away from me for the rest of the night.

With Sirius, James, and the others busy cracking jokes in the corner, I was able to drift through the rest of the room unnoticed. I retreated into the stairwell, examining the photographs on the walls. I heard footsteps approaching, and turned to see Lily.

"Having a nice birthday?" she asked, a half-empty glass of red wine in her hand.

I smiled at her, feeling an odd sort of warmth at this simple encounter. Something about Lily's presence was so calming, so…motherly.

She looked at the photographs I had been examining. "That was your first broom," she said, pointing to the one right in front of us. "You were only a year old. Sirius bought that for you. You had only been walking for a few weeks by this point, but you were completely comfortable on that broom."

It was a wizarding photograph of the one-year-old me, floating about a foot off the ground on a toy broomstick. James and Sirius were standing off to the side, laughing while the baby version of me whizzed around.

"And here," she continued, pointing to the photo just above it. "This was your first date."

"My what?" I said, stunned.

Lily smiled at me. "You were only six here, but you were enamored by this muggle girl named Jane who lived down the road. We were worried at first—you know, because of the Statute of Secrecy—but you managed to make a couple of flowers bloom in the winter time and give them to her." Her smile widened at the memory. "She gave you your first kiss here. But she moved away the following year."

"What about this one?" I asked, pointing to a photograph near the top.

Lily, who was a few inches shorter than me, stood on the tip of her toes to see the one I was referring to. "Oh, that was shortly after Ben was born. He won't admit it now, but he loved having a big brother. Followed you everywhere, like a baby duck. I think he's two, maybe two and a half, there. He had a toy broom of his own, but his couldn't fly as high or as fast as yours. You see, you were already six here. But you flew low to the ground so Ben could keep up."

I turned to look at her, a sudden constricting in my chest. She was examining the wall of photographs with a small smile, then turned to look at me. "I'm so proud of everything you've done, Harry," she said, green eyes—my eyes—glittering.

"Mum," I said quickly. I knew where this was going, and I wanted to stop her before we got there.

"Sorry, I know it's embarrassing to see your mum cry," she said, wiping her eyes. But she was smiling. "But you're sixteen now. I can hardly believe it. It was only yesterday that you were learning to walk." She smiled at me again, her eyes brimming with tears and happiness. I couldn't stand it. "Oh, before I forget," she said suddenly. "We have to cut the cake! But now I'm a mess…"

I wasn't aware of doing it. I wasn't really aware of anything. I would say that it was instinctual, but I had never had a mother before, so I don't know where it came from. Either way, before I could even think of stopping myself, I hugged her. I hugged her exactly the same way Mrs. Weasley had sometimes hugged me. Fifteen years she had been dead in my world, and now—for whatever reason—she was standing in front of me. I couldn't make myself stop.

A little while later, we both ambled back into the drawing room, where everyone else had been gathered, eating, talking, and laughing. I passed out slices of the cake, listened to James tell embarrassing stories of me in an impromptu birthday speech, and opened my presents. It was late when our guests went home, leaving only my family and Sirius, who had stayed behind to help clean up.

"Hey, Lily, maybe we should hire a maid," James suggested, poking his wand at the pile of dishes in the kitchen sink.

Lily snorted. "Please. And teach our boys what? Imagine washing those by hand."

James placed a hand over his heart as though he had been shot. Lily threw a balled up napkin at the back of his head.

I moved back into the main entryway, where Sirius was removing the banners with Ben.

"So then," Ben said, barely keeping his laughter in check. "Then we look outside, and that git Baddock is outside, holding this huge banner that reads, 'Eleanor Branstone, will you marry me?'"

Both Ben and Sirius roared with laughter.

"You're kidding!" Sirius managed, leaning onto the wall for support, the forgotten banner still in hand.

Ben shook his head, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "So then McGonagall comes to the window to see what all the fuss is about—had to call Snape 'round so he could give Baddock the antidote. Snape actually had to drag Baddock down to the dungeons, 'cause the git wasn't going to go willingly, not until Branstone said yes."

They laughed again. Ben turned and caught sight of me. "Hey, Harry—do you remember whatever happened after that?"

I had no idea. I was pretty sure I didn't know who those two students even were. "Er, no," I said, trying to sound casual. "Remind me."

"Well," said Ben, a little breathless from laughing. "All I know is Baddock got a detention or two from all that. Never could find out who slipped him the Love Potion."

Sirius was in town for a week before disappearing again. I knew James had been joking about the whole Unspeakable business, but now I was starting to consider it as a possibility.

Lily took Ben and me into Diagon Alley two weeks before the start of term to buy our school things. I had pretty much outgrown my robes by almost a foot, which stunned Lily.

"I just don't understand how you can keep growing," she said, shaking her head as I was fitted for new robes at Madam Malkin's. "I thought for sure last summer was going to be your last growth spurt. You and Ron are both nearly as tall as Sirius, now."

After the robes, we braved the crowds at Flourish and Blott's. Ben was able to re-use some of my old textbooks as the contents hadn't changed, but he was required to purchase a new Defense Against the Dark Arts text and a supplemental guide for Charms. I, however, needed a new set of nearly everything. I had been so used to being embarrassed over the cost of my books as Mrs. Weasley typically picked them up for me, but Lily didn't think anything of the high price.

"Here, put your books in here," she said, holding her shoulder bag open once we had exited the claustrophobia of the store and stepped back outside.

I raised my eyebrows. One or two books might fit in there, but not all of them. Ben, however, thought nothing of it, and slipped his books inside. They didn't even appear to bulge out.

"Will they fit?" I asked hesitantly, peering around the stack on my arms. My books were heavy, but I didn't mind carrying them. I especially didn't want to shove them all into Lily's bag and make her arm fall off.

"'Course they will," said Lily, taking the top one off the stack. Like Ben's books, they disappeared inside and gave no sign that they were taking up space. Seeing my inaction, Ben took the rest of them from me without preamble and slid them inside Lily's bag. Somehow, they all fit.

"Isn't that heavy?" I asked, frowning.

Lily shook her head. "No, I don't even notice it. Your father found this Bottomless Bag and thought it was funny. I just put a simple Featherweight Charm on it, so it feels like it's empty most of the time. It makes grocery shopping a lot easier."

I was impressed, but neither Ben nor Lily seemed to think anything of it.

"All right," said Lily, consulting a scrap of parchment on which she had written a list of everything we needed to do in Diagon Alley. "Let's head to the Apothecary next."

While Ben looked for re-fills, I browsed the shelves. Apparently I was signed up for N.E.W.T. level potions, which was a shock. I was skimming the rows of creepy-looking ingredients when I noticed a familiar brunette head standing on the other side.

"Hermione?" I said, stunned. I quickly moved around to the other side of the shelf.

She looked exactly like the Hermione I knew, with the same slightly bushy brown hair and muggle clothes. Her eyebrows raised when she saw me, obviously taken aback by my eagerness. I had to remember that this Hermione and the other Harry weren't friends. But I was going to fix that as soon as I could.

"Hi, Harry," she said warily, taking a half-step backwards.

"How's your summer been?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"Fine," she said in the same voice. "You?"

I nodded. "Good. You taking Potions this year?" I asked. Even I could tell my voice sounded awkward.

"Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, Defense, and Arithmancy," she said. "Although I did consider dropping arithmancy this year, since we're at the N.E.W.T. level."

"I'm sure you'll be fine," I said, shrugging. "You're the most brilliant witch I know."

For some reason, Hermione blushed slightly at that. What? Ron and I had always said Hermione was brilliant, and it had never caused her to blush before.

"Well, I'll see you on the train, Harry," she said, moving toward the front counter.

"Really?" I said before I could stop myself.

She paused, one eyebrow raised. There was a small amused smile on her face. "Prefect's compartment? We have to tell the Fifth years their general duties."

"Oh. Right," I said hastily, trying to play it off like I already knew that. "Yeah, well, I'll see you then."

Hermione gave a small, hesitant wave before purchasing her ingredients and leaving.

"Chatting up girls?" came a voice behind me. I turned to see Ben, who was holding several new glass bottles and looking amused.

"No, we're just friends."

Ben raised an eyebrow at me before turning to the shop door, where Hermione just exited. "Right. You and Granger? I don't think so."

"Why not?" I asked, getting heated. Half of me was annoyed that anyone could think that Hermione and I couldn't possibly be friends, and the other half just wanted to know why the other Harry and Hermione weren't.

"Well, because you're Harry, and she's Granger," said Ben, like that explained it. Seeing my expression, he rolled his eyes. "You may both be Prefects, but you two don't go together. You're popular, you've always got girlfriends, and now you're Quidditch Captain. Granger's nice enough, but she's kind of this oddball."

"She's not an oddball—"

Ben's eyebrows raised. "Yeah, okay. Only you're the one who calls her an oddball."

"Since when?" I demanded, rounding on him.

"Since like your first day at Hogwarts," said Ben, picking up a glass vial Hermione had been examining earlier. "You and Ron. 'Course, I think Ron's just secretly in love with her, but hey—it's your nickname for her, not mine."

"You two ready?" Lily called from across the shop.

"Yeah, Mum," said Ben, moving to the counter. He saw that I wasn't following him, then said, "You coming?"

I forced my feet to move, uprooting myself from the spot on the floor. Ben had to be taking the mickey out of me. Okay, so I could see how Hermione's brilliance could be a little intimidating, and it was sometimes annoying to always be compared to her in class. But it was Hermione; she was my best friend. Or at least she used to be.

Those were two relationships the other Harry had just thrown away, now. I was really starting to dislike the other version of me.

After the Apothecary, we made our way to the Quidditch supply shop so I could buy new gloves. I had lost any interest in shopping, however, so I just stared blankly at the wall of gloves while Ben and Lily looked at the different brooms.

"If you're done standing there like an Inferius," came a familiar drawl from behind me. "I'd like to take a look at the gloves myself."

I turned to see Draco Malfoy standing there, looking just as unpleasant as ever. Malfoy had always been slight like me, but now he had also shot up like a weed. He looked more man than boy, giving him an uncanny resemblance to his Death Eater father.

"Shove off," I muttered, not in the mood to be creative with my insults.

"I could say the same for you," he said pointedly. "Now either move over, or go away so everyone else can take a look."

I took a large step to the side without turning my head. I think Malfoy had been hoping for more of a fight, because I heard him sigh as he stood right next to me. While I wasn't in the mood to argue, I did take a secret joy in the fact that standing next to me annoyed him. He picked out his set of gloves relatively quickly, then turned to me and said, "Good luck as Captain, Potter. You're going to need it."

I briefly considered replying with something snarky, but I had better things to think about. I ignored him as he walked away, this time trying to actually concentrate on the pair I wanted. After examining nearly every set, I grudgingly selected the same pair Malfoy had chosen. I felt they were somehow tainted, but they were easily the best gloves for a Seeker.

"What was Malfoy saying to you?" Ben asked a few minutes later when we had exited the shop.

"Just being a git, like always," I muttered.

"You know he's been made Captain, too, right?"

I felt my eyebrows shoot up. "Are you kidding? Who would make that idiot Captain?"

"Well, if you buy the whole team new brooms, anything's possible," said Ben with great dislike. "Too bad it doesn't make him any less of a terrible player."

"Too bad he can't trade in some of those Galleons for brains—"

"All right, that's enough," said Lily, though her voice lacked any note of scolding in it. "Let's go home."

I wasn't in a good mood the rest of the evening, but my mum—I mean Lily—just attributed it to shopping all day.

"Your father's the same way," she said when we had reached home. "Unless we're in the Quidditch shop, the stores sort of just drain away his will to live."

I retreated to my room and sort of haphazardly dumped my new school things onto the foot of my bed. Hedwig was moving restlessly in her cage, so I opened my window and let her out so she could go hunting. I had a few mouse skeletons on my floor that I needed to clean up, but I really didn't feel like it. I had spent the last month enjoying this different life, but now I was starting to feel more anxious than ever to get back.

But going back would mean that Sirius and my parents would be dead again.

My sour mood lasted the next several days. My family seemed to attribute it to boredom—Ron still wasn't allowed visitors—and kept suggesting things for me to do, none of which really peaked my interest. I often played a modified version of Quidditch with Ben and his friend Eddy Mulligan, who lived down the road, but Eddy was so terrible that it was more annoying than fun. Ben, however, was remarkably fast, and I briefly wondered why he wasn't on the Griffindor Team. He would have made an excellent Keeper.

Otherwise I spent all my time going through the books in my dad's library, looking for anything that could possibly hint at alternative universes. I told the others that I was just doing some last-minute homework, which passed as an acceptable excuse. Apparently the other Harry was just as much of a procrastinator as I was.

The only thing that really lifted my spirits was a sudden and unexpected visit by Sirius the night before term started. I was lying on the floor of my room, absently drawing on the corner of my last Charms essay in Disappearing Ink, when someone knocked on my door.

"Come in," I said dully, thinking it was someone coming to tell me dinner was ready.

"Aren't you sore lying on the floor like that?"

I hastily turned to see Sirius standing in the doorway. He was leaning against the doorframe, one hand on the knob, and a small smile on his face.

"Sirius! I didn't know you were coming," I said, both surprised and pleased.

"I wanted to see you one last time before term started," he said, shutting the bedroom door and moving around the mess in my room. He took a seat on the edge of my bed and pulled a book from the back of his waistband. "Here," he said, holding it out for me.

I took the book curiously, and felt my breath catch when I read the title: _The Universe and Multiple Reality: a Physical Explanation for Manifesting, Magick, and Miracles. _I looked back up at Sirius, stunned.

He gave an awkward sort of half-shrug. "It was all I could find on such short notice. There was a lot of nonsense garbage about 'awakening your inner being,' but this seemed to be all right. So I, er, hope it helps."

I opened the spine of the book, which was a little worn and threadbare. Did this mean Sirius believed me? I skimmed through a couple pages before turning back to him. "Sirius—"

"It's still weird to me," he said, answering my question before I had even asked it. "But…I mean, anything's possible. I just don't know how much I can help you. I'm really not an expert on this kind of thing."

"This is perfect," I said earnestly, looking back at the thick volume. "Any little thing helps, really."

"Have you still not told your parents?" he asked, frowning.

"No, I didn't. And I'm still not going to."

Sirius adjusted his weight on the bed, sighing a little. "Why don't you want to tell them?"

I hesitated. Why was I keeping this a secret from them? I hadn't really dwelt on it too much, but there was a reason, a reason I had been a little ashamed to admit. "In my world, my parents died when I was a year old. I never knew them. So now," I said with difficulty. "Now it's like having them back. Like being part of a normal family, you know? I don't want to ruin that."

Sirius was still watching me, frowning. It was impossible for me to guess what he was thinking. Slowly, without me being completely aware of it, I asked the question that had been burning in my brain since the first day I ended up here. "Sirius, what happened? Between you and the other Harry?"

Emotions flickered so fast over Sirius' face that it was almost impossible to catch them. He hesitated, looking extremely uncomfortable. I almost considered taking the question back, but I had to know. "I wasn't a very good godfather," he said finally.

I felt my eyebrows rise. "I don't believe that," I said before I could stop myself.

Sirius gave me a small, wry smile. But there was something pained in it. "No, it's true." He sighed, running a hand through his hair distractedly, exactly how the other Sirius acted when he was thinking over something heavy. "When you were born, it was one of the best days of my life," he said. "Lily used to joke that you might grow up confused as to whether James or I was your father because I was around so much." He paused, reflecting on some distant memory, then said, "But after a few years, I wasn't around as much. Then I just wasn't around at all. I broke a lot of promises. I'd say I'd show up for a holiday or a birthday, and then never show.

"I always felt guilty about it," he continued quietly, frowning. "But at the same time, I never did anything about it. Your dad and I had a few falling outs over it, but he always forgave me."

"But not me," I said. It was a statement more than a question.

Sirius shrugged, not willing to let the other Harry take the blame. "You—_he_—had every right to be upset. I was a huge part of his life and then I just disappeared without an explanation."

My skin felt electrified. Sirius had said "he" instead of "you" in reference to the real Harry of this world. I felt a rush, and wanted to keep Sirius talking. "Then why is the other Harry the only one who's mad?" I asked. "Why not Ben?"

Sirius shrugged. "I think Ben was too young to understand. I think he was about three or four at the time. You were seven. For Ben, I was the godfather that popped in maybe once or twice a year. But you had come to expect that I was a part of your family, and then I just left."

I frowned. "Why did you leave?"

"Work."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Remember in Diagon Alley, when I told you it wasn't a good reason?" Sirius hinted.

"I just can't see that happening," I said, frowning.

"Why not?"

Merlin, because of a thousand things. "Well, it seems to be that everyone here is exactly like their selves from my world, only without being dead. For myself, I would never be so stupid as to hate you over something as ridiculous as your job, and I can't believe the other Harry would, either."

"Well, that's your answer then, isn't it?" said Sirius, sounding a lot like Dumbledore just then. "In your world, your family are dead, I'm a prison escapee, and you have Death Eaters. You would probably invest more in the relationships you do have, because you know how fragile they are. Here," he continued. "there's no such thing. You never had to worry about your friends and family being murdered, so there's nothing for our offences to pale in comparison to."

I frowned. I couldn't believe that was the real answer. But maybe it was. Maybe the other version of me had turned into a selfish, spoiled brat because he had everything I had ever wanted. His family was alive, his friends weren't being murdered, and Voldemort wasn't after him. Voldemort didn't even exist here. Is this how I would have turned out in my world, too?

"Hey," said Sirius gently. I looked up and realized he had been watching me. "Don't dwell too much on it," he said.

"How can I not?" I asked dully.

He waved his hand dismissively. "Focus on the things on your plate right now. The past is the past. You've got term starting tomorrow. And," he added, pointing to the book that was still in my lap. "you'll need all your energy elsewhere." He got to his feet. "Have a good year, Harry. I can't promise I'll be around for Christmas, but I'll try."

"Sirius," I said when he had reached the door. "I'm sorry."

He waved a hand dismissively. "There's nothing to apologize for, Harry."

"But—"

"Whether you're my Harry, or a different one, I've been able to be a part of your life again, even if that part's small. That's more than I deserve." He waved at me from the doorway. "Be good."

I couldn't help but smile. One of the infamous Marauders, telling me to behave myself. "Bye, Sirius."


	4. Blending In

Chapter four:

* * *

><p>I really had no idea how I was going to blend in as a completely different Harry at Hogwarts, especially because this other Harry seemed to be popular and kind of a git. Ben and I said our good-byes to our parents on the platform, and I began searching the train for Ron.<p>

"Hey there, Harry!"

"Nice summer?"

I pushed my way through the vaguely familiar faces, awkwardly nodding at everyone who greeted me. I found Ron near the middle of the train, trying to force his trunk on the overhead bin. "Still alive then, huh?" he said when he saw me.

"Yeah, I guess it'll take a bit more than a Quidditch accident to do me in," I replied, forcing an awkward grin.

"Blimey, that's a hell of a scar—"

Automatically my hand went to my lightning bolt scar on my head. "Er, yeah—wild, isn't it?"

"Your memory still a bit fuzzy?" he asked more seriously.

"A bit," I replied. Merlin, I really hoped reading the other Harry's notebooks would enough to blend in. I forced my trunk onto the rack next to Ron's and plopped down into the seat across from him. Dean and Seamus joined us a few minutes later, immediately filling Ron and me in on their summer trip to Holland.

"There are these canals on practically every other street. Everyone rides a bike there, too, and you should see their wizarding shops."

"Or their muggle ones," Dean added, grinning at Seamus. "They've got these weird coffee shops that—"

A brown-haired figure passed by the compartment door, then did a double take. I found myself looking at Hermione Granger, who had an eyebrow raised. She slid open the compartment door, and—ignoring everyone else in the compartment—said to me, "You know we're supposed to meet in the Prefect's cabin, right?"

"Oh, sh—er, right, yeah," I stammered, jumping to my feet. "Yeah, I was just catching up. Walk with you down there?"

Hermione stared at me with an eyebrow raised, but waited for me to say my hasty goodbyes.

"It's gonna be a good year, yeah?" I tried as we walked between compartments. "Er, what classes you up for?"

"Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, D.A.D.A., Arithmancy, Herbology, Ancient Runes, and Astronomy," Hermione listed off. "All N.E.W.T. level."

Yeah, this Hermione was pretty much the same one I knew. "Cool, we'll have half our classes together."

She gave a tight-lipped smile. I could tell I made her uncomfortable, but I didn't know why.

"So, er, how was your summer?" I tried conversationally.

"It was nice. My parents and I spent the last week in France visiting my aunt."

Another awkward silence.

"Well, I nearly killed myself in a quidditch accident had lost a bit of my memory—" I tried to begin, playing it off, when we were suddenly interrupted.

"Oi, Potter!"

I turned around to see a group of students I vaguely recognized in the hallways at school beckoning me to come over.

"Take a look at what Cumberland brought!" one of them shouted between laughs.

"You git, Granger's with him," another said, smacking his arm. He didn't even try to keep his voice down. "She'll tell on us."

Hermione turned on her heel and marched down the train without me. I waved the students off, not sure how to react, and hurried after Hermione.

"You can tell your friends that Fanged Frisbees are still banned, and they _will _be confiscated," said Hermione curtly when I had reached her.

"I don't even know them," I said awkwardly. "And what they said was stupid—"

"What, that I'll tell on them? Because I tell on everyone, right?"

"Woah, Hermione, I never said—"

"Of course not," she replied curtly. We had reached the Prefect's compartment. "Because the wonderful Harry Potter never does anything wrong." With that, she stormed inside, letting the door shut behind her. I caught it halfway, dumbstruck.

What just happened?

I tried really hard to pay attention during the brief meeting. Hermione explained to the new fifth year Prefects all of their duties, ranging from monitoring the halls after hours and giving out detentions. "You can take points away as needed, but only from your own House," she continued, sounding very much like a professor.

Someone raised their hand. "I heard we get our own bathroom?"

"Yes, the Prefects have their own bathrooms on the second and fifth floors," said Hermione, sounding a little caught off guard by the question.

"And we're allowed to stay out past curfew?"

"Well, within reason—"

"And give people detentions?"

"Look," said Hermione, sounding annoyed. "It's a very serious job, and it's not meant to be taken advantage of. Professor Dumbledore chose all of you himself—so while there are certain…amenities…of being a Prefect, your duties are much more important. Now, when we get to the castle, we'll be in charge of escorting all the first year students to their dormitories."

At this, Hermione shot me an expectant look. I hesitated, looking around uncomfortably to find that everyone's eyes had travelled to me.

"Er, yeah, you tell them the passwords," I began hesitantly. What had Ron told me when he had been made Prefect? I looked at Hermione, and her face had a look that clearly said, _go on. _"And you help them find their classes and stuff, 'cause it's easy to get lost."

A few people giggled. Unamused, Hermione took back the lead. "While on duty, you'll wear your Prefect's badge at all times so you're easily recognized. You'll also be expected to represent the school and the staff—by becoming a Prefect, you're an extension of the faculty—"

"Yeah, so don't blow up any toilets," I muttered, thinking of Fred and George. I hadn't expected anyone to be paying me any attention as they were all looking at Hermione, but that comment caused a wave of laughs around the compartment. I hadn't thought my comment was particularly laugh-worthy, but it was greeted warmly by the other Prefects.

Hermione, however, didn't laugh.

Once the awkward Prefect's meeting had ended, I headed back toward my compartment, trying to be as invisible as possible. But nearly every carriage I passed was filled with students who wanted to share a story of their summer, show me their latest Zonko's product, or talk about Quidditch. Apparently I was an avid Puddlemere United fan.

Ben hadn't been kidding when he said I was popular. And I wasn't even the Boy-Who-Lived anymore.

I found my original compartment, and Ron and the others were lounging around a wizard's chess set.

"Ah, bollocks! I thought I'd finally beat you!"

"Nah," said Ron easily as the chess pieces destroyed each other. "I grew up playing against cheaters."

"Harry, fancy a game?" Seamus asked. "Ron here's not any fun to play against."

"Well, maybe if you were a better player—"

"Right. I'd rather play against Snape."

"No way, he'd get inside your head and read your mind," I said without thinking. The others gave me half-amused, half-surprised looks. "Er, you know, since he's such a creep, floating around the dungeons."

Dean pulled a face. "Ugh. I think I'd rather have McGonagall in my head—"

"And see all the fantasies you have of her? No way, mate," interrupted Seamus, grinning. Dean smacked him.

"Better than your fantasies of Hagrid—"

"All right, are we playing or not?" I interrupted, poking the chess pieces into position.

We were halfway through our first match when the compartment door slid open. I wasn't paying attention to the new visitor until a lithe body suddenly sat itself down in my lap. I jumped back like I had been electrocuted.

"Didn't you miss me, Potter?" asked an unfamiliar girl, tossing her curtain of brown hair over her shoulder.

"Uh, sorry?"

I looked around the compartment—for help, clues, anything. They just stared back at me blankly.

"I know we broke up last year, but I've had the summer to think on it. I think we should give it another go," she said, leaning in much too close. I scooted sideways several inches to give myself a little breathing room.

"Er, maybe we should talk about it later," I said hesitantly. I had no idea what she was talking about. Ron, Dean and Seamus all shot each other unreadable looks.

She wasn't deterred. She sat back comfortably in the seat, crossing her ankles in the cushion across from her, right between Ron and Dean. Her toes tapped playfully against Ron's leg and he cleared his throat loudly. The strange girl smirked at him before turning back to me. There was a mischievous smile playing around her lips.

"No problem. How about our old spot in the Charms classroom?"

Holy shit.

She chuckled to herself, rising to her feet elegantly. "See you later, Potter," she said, grazing her fingers across my shoulder as she moved past me. The second the compartment door slid shut, I turned to my friends.

"What the _bloody hell _was that about?" I said, stunned.

Seamus chuckled from across the chess board. "I think I've got a few ideas."

I looked at Ron. "Who is she?" I mouthed.

Ron's eyebrows shot up. "How the bloody hell could you forget about her? Clare Phillips?"

Seamus and Dean turned to look between the two of us. "What are you on about?"

"Harry lost his memory over the summer," said Ron. I had opened my mouth to reply, but Ron beat me to it.

"Bloody hell," said Dean, looking at me with raised eyebrows. "How'd you do that?"

"Quidditch accident," I said hastily. "And I can remember most things—just—not her," I added lamely.

They laughed at that.

"What's so funny about that?" I asked, frowning.

"Well, Clare's hot but completely crazy," said Ron, grinning. "And you dated her for a bit last year."

"Yeah, 'dated,'" said Seamus, nudging Dean. They laughed at that, but I was still serious. I was sure I hadn't come across Clare's name in any of the other Harry's old notebooks or letters. And I was positive I didn't recognize her face from my world.

"So now she wants to date me?"

"Congrats, mate," said Seamus.

No, no, no. The last thing I wanted to do was mix myself up with a girl that only existed in this universe. Especially if she was crazy.

"I bet she heard you were made Quidditch Captain," said Dean.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

The other three all exchanged grins.

"Well, Clare's got a thing for…authority figures. She was all over you when you were made Prefect last year," said Ron. "You really don't remember any of that?"

I shook my head.

They all shot each other amused looks.

"Well, mate, you'd best stay away from her," said Ron as the train neared Hogsmede station.

"Yeah, good luck with that," Seamus added.

We made our way through the packed platform, hoping to find a carriage that hadn't been claimed. The thestrals waited calmly, sniffing at each other and occasionally at unsuspecting students who passed by.

We managed to beat a group of third year girls to an empty carriage and quickly climbed inside.

"Man, I hope the song isn't long this time, I'm starving," Ron noted as we began moving.

Hogwarts looked just like my memory of it. The Great Hall was packed, and there at the front, sat Dumbledore. My heart leapt in my chest a little. He was sitting with McGonagall, talking animatedly about something. He looked like the Dumbledore I knew, but there was something off about him, too. He didn't look as old, as burdened as the one I had become familiar with.

Most of the professors were the same. Flitwick, Binns, Sprout, Snape, Sinistra, and Vector were all there. Even Hagrid down at the end. There were a few unfamiliar faces, ones I had never seen in my world.

I followed Ron and the others to the Gryffindor table, mildly surprised to see they chose the same spot I had always favored in my world. Ron downed a goblet of pumpkin juice while we waited for the students to settle, and finally, Dumbledore's welcoming speech.

"Good evening, Hogwarts!" he said pleasantly, his voice carrying across the silent hall. "To our new students, welcome! To our returning ones, welcome to another year at Hogwarts! Before I get carried away with myself, our caretaker Argus Filch has asked me to remind you all that after last year's incident regarding itching powder in the laundry, an updated list of banned objects has been posted in his office for any student wishing to refresh their memory.

"Now, I should like to introduce the newest addition to Hogwarts, Ellie Dowson! She will be replacing Professor Lewis in Defense Against the Dark Arts while he enjoys time with his, er, remaining faculties. Some of you may remember Professor Dowson as a student, having just graduated Hogwarts only five years ago."

There was a hearty round of applause. I heard a lot of laughter, and turned to look around the Great Hall.

"Merlin! I didn't know they made them like that anymore!" Seamus said loudly over the applause.

"What?"

"Look at her!"

I could barely see the professor's head over the students craning their necks to get a better view. There was a young woman I didn't recognize, a strawberry blonde head sitting next to Professor Sprout and Hagrid. I sat up straighter to get a better look, and immediately knew what Seamus must be talking about. She was certainly beautiful, and she didn't look much older than the seventh year students. Dowson seemed mildly amused by the reaction from the students, whispering something in Professor Sprout's ear.

"Lastly," said Dumbledore loudly to get everyone's attention. "Any students wishing to submit their ideas for this year's school clubs is advised to meet with Professor McGonagall before next Friday.

"Now, I shan't take all the attention! Let us welcome our first year students and begin the Sorting!"

There was polite applause as each student was sorted into their new houses. I could hear Ron's stomach growling next to me, and my own was starting to twist in knots. I had only been present for maybe half of the start-of-year feasts, but there was definitely a more relaxed air than I was used to.

Finally, after Dumbledore invited us to start the meal with a simple "Tuck in!" food appeared on the spotless dishes and the Great Hall was instantly flooded with the smell of roast chicken, warm bread, and vegetables. Ron and I helped ourselves generously, having only snacked on the train ride here.

An hour later, when we were full to burst and becoming rather sleepy, Dumbledore dismissed the students. I was ready to follow Ron through the shortcuts to Gryffindor Tower and bypass the crowd, but I caught sight of Hermione and suddenly remembered I was a Prefect.

"Shit, I don't have my badge," I said, searching my pockets. "I think it's in my trunk."

Ron laughed at me. "Tough luck, mate. See you upstairs."

I met with Hermione and the other Prefects in the corner of the hall, where they were rounding up the new students. Not sure what do to, I stood on the edge of the Hufflepuff bench and began yelling "First years over here!" A gaggle of scared-looking students caught sight of me and immediately rushed over. "Hey! First years!"

Once we had divided them up by house, most of the older students had already disappeared to their dormitories.

"This is, er, one way to get to Gryffindor tower," I said to the group following me. "There are a lot of shortcuts, and sometimes the staircases like to change up on you, so you really have got to pay attention to where you're going. Most of the portraits will help you if you're lost, and the ghosts, too—just stay away from Peeves, whatever you do."

"Who's Peeves?" someone piped up. They were at least a foot shorter than me.

"The Poltergeist—he's only scared of the Bloody Baron, so don't even bother trying with him. Your best bet is to ignore all his, er, _advice, _and just carry on your way. Right, let's go this way," I said, spotting a shortcut. Hermione was leading her group through all the main staircases, but it would add at least another five minutes to the trip, and I wanted to go to sleep.

"This staircase bypasses most of the third and fourth floors, so it'll save you some time. Just be careful, because on Tuesdays and Sundays it likes to change it up and take you in a big loop instead," I said, yawning. We hurried up to the seventh floor, having beat the other groups.

"Right, so all the common rooms are guarded by something—ours is the Portrait of the Fat Lady. You get through by giving her the password. Which is…" I stalled, fishing around in my pockets for the bit of parchment I had scribbled it on. "Fizzing Whizbees."

The portrait swung open and I led them inside.

"Right, so this is the common room," I said, not sure if I was supposed to give some kind of tour. "Staircase on the left is the boys', the right leads to the girls' dorms. Your door should be marked, so, er, feel free to settle in."

I didn't feel too bad abandoning them there, because Hermione soon showed up with the remaining students. I could hear her explaining where everything was while I made my way up the spiral staircase to my dorm. Ron and Dean were already passed out, and Neville and Seamus were still getting ready for bed.

I slipped off my shoes and robes and fell face-down onto my familiar four-poster, not bothering to change into PJs. I slipped my glasses off, and feeling the weight of food in my stomach, soon passed out.

* * *

><p>I was not prepared to be the beneficiary of this other Harry's popularity, but I had to admit, it was actually kind of nice.<p>

Most students moved out of my way in the corridors, waving or smiling in my direction. Girls watched me as I passed. Even professors I vaguely recognized offered a "good morning." Ron and I walked down the corridor toward Charms the next morning like two kings. My bag was slung lazily over one shoulder, I was dressed in expensive robes, and—feeling bold—I had loosened my tie and let my shirt go untucked that morning. It was kind of stupid in the back of my mind, but I couldn't help but feel…cool. This must be what my dad and Sirius felt like in their school days.

Our favorite seats were open despite the rest of the class being mostly full. Dean and Seamus sat nearby, cracking jokes, and even the heavy homework load assigned by Flitwick couldn't dampen my mood. Ron and I shared a free period before lunch, which we spent sitting lazily by the lake's edge with a few other older students.

We enjoyed the break as much as possible, because after that was double Potions with Slytherin. I didn't think the school could possibly come up with a worse schedule, although I was amazed I managed to achieve the scores to get into Snape's class. While Ron headed off to Care of Magical Creatures, I made my way down to the dungeons.

I had been dreading seeing Snape more than anything else so far; he had murdered Dumbledore and betrayed the Order in my world. While he obviously hadn't committed the same crimes here, he was still a Death Eater in my mind.

Hermione was sitting alone, and I dropped my bag down in the seat next to her. She spun around, surprised.

"Er, mind if I sit here?"

"Not at all, you're welcome to sit wherever you like," she said neutrally.

I hadn't spoken to her since our awkward meeting on the train. I squinted in the dim light to read the chalkboard across the room.

"He can't be serious," I heard Lavender Brown say from behind me. "We're expected to research _all _of the Elixers by Friday?"

Just then the dungeon fell silent as Snape swept into the room. I locked eyes with him for the briefest of seconds. I tried to suppress my rage—memories of trying to attack Snape on the Hogwarts lawn surfaced to my mind. I vaguely wondered if this Snape was as skilled in Legilimency, and focused on closing off my mind. I wouldn't have this greasy Death Eater prowling around in my memories of a different world.

"Potter."

Everyone turned to look at me.

"Can you name all of the known Elixers and their primary properties?" Snape asked smoothly.

I wracked my brain. I would have to play along. "Well, there's…the Elixer of Life," I said, remembering my disastrous second year with Voldemort's diary and Nicholas Flamel. I tried to remember Slughorn's lecture on Elixers last year. Which is this year. It was such a mess. "And the Elixer of Euphoria."

Snape gave me a long, unreadable look. "Go on."

I tried to concentrate. Last year had been bogged down with so much information about Horcruxes and Voldemort that I hardly remembered any of my schooling that hadn't been useful in fighting Death Eaters. "Er, there are Everlasting Elixers."

"And what are the notable properties of Elixers?" Snape continued. It seemed he would keep questioning me until I messed up.

I thought back to the day I was trying to trick Slughorn into telling me about Tom Riddle. "They smell good."

There were a few scattered giggles. Snape raised a black eyebrow. I set my own face, determined not to look intimidated.

"They smell good," he repeated slowly, enjoying each word. I was sure I was right, but leave it to Snape to find something wrong in that.

"All right, they're _alluring,_" I corrected, choosing a word Snape might use. "By definition, Elixers are meant to be appealing—their scent, their color. So they smell good."

I could hear Lavender trying to stifle a laugh behind me. Several students were looking between Snape and me with their mouths open. Just behind Snape, I could see Malfoy whisper something to a girl I vaguely recognized as something Greengrass. Danielle? Darlene? It didn't matter.

Snape's eyes narrowed infinitesimally.

"My, it appears Mr. Potter has done his homework for once," said Snape coolly. "Since you are so well-informed, perhaps you can match your textbook answer to your skill. The class will brew an Elixer of Euphoria. You, Mr. Potter, will brew us a Drink of Despair—"

"But that's a _poison_," I blurted out.

"Then let us hope your classmates are as knowledgeable as you," said Snape coolly. "One of their potions will be your antidote."

"I'm not going to drink—"

"Of course not," Snape interrupted quietly. "We cannot risk harming Gryffindor House's star pupil. I have a class of first year students at my disposal tomorrow morning."

I gawked at him. "You can't be serious—you can't poison a student—"

Snape merely ignored me. He turned his back on me as he walked up to the chalkboard and began writing instructions. "It will take you approximately seventy minutes to prepare your Elixers—and twenty more to suffuse. After the steeping period is over, you are to bottle samples of your potion and leave them on my desk for grading. Let us hope someone in this class can brew a successful Elixer of Euphoria so that Potter does not have to suffer the knowledge that his Draught of Despair might have lingering effects."

I glared at Snape the whole time I loudly collected ingredients. The instructions for my poison had to be borrowed from one of Snape's private books—of course he had a textbook of poison recipes—and I made no effort to avoid spilling liquids on its pages.

The class mostly brewed in silence, long since out of the habit of risking asking each other advice when Snape might hear. I looked over at Hermione—she was at least three steps ahead of the rest of the class, following the book's instructions diligently.

"Add a bit of peppermint," I muttered to her. Snape was safely on the other side of the dungeon. "It'll help the side effects."

"It doesn't say to add peppermint," she said back, barely glancing up from her book.

"Trust me, it'll work," I added, remembering some of the addendums to Snape's old potions book.

When class was almost over, Snape made a final walk through the class to examine potions.

He stopped by Lavender's table, stirring the sunshine yellow contents slowly.

"You have added something," he said neutrally.

"Peppermint, sir," she said nervously.

He set the ladle down on the desk and gave her a long look. "And why might you deviate from the simple instructions?"

She glanced at me nervously. "Er, to help with the side effects," she said quickly.

Snape moved to the next table. "Well, it certainly isn't the worst thing you have made in my class," he told her.

Lavender, who had been holding her breath, let it out with relief and shot me an appreciative smile. Hermione, who had followed the instructions carefully, just folded her arms.

I hastily bottled my stupid potion and left it on my table rebelliously, refusing to take it up to Snape myself. I pulled my bag over my shoulder and made my way to the main floor to find Ron for dinner. I quickly told him the story, which Ron listened to with raised eyebrows.

"He's a fucking nutter," he said when I had finished. "I don't know why Dumbledore keeps him around."

I resisted the urge to tell Ron about Snape's double-agent status. "Yeah, how hard can it be to find a potions master who _doesn't _have guidebooks to making poisons just sitting on classroom shelves?"

"Potter!"

I quickly turned around to see Cormac McLaggen approaching me with Lavender Brown in tow. "I hear you're Quidditch Captain."

"Er, that's right."

"When are you holding try-outs?" he asked. He had the same calm, arrogant manner the Cormac I knew did.

"Er, next…Saturday?" I said, looking at Ron for some reason. "I've got to book the quidditch pitch first. I'll post the day in the common room as soon as I get one."

Cormac winked at me before passing us into the Great Hall.

Ron and I looked at each other.

"I'm not putting him on the team, not unless everyone dies," I said automatically.

Ron laughed at that. "Don't tell him that, or he might get some ideas."

"You should try out," I said. "You play well."

"Nah," said Ron hesitantly. "I can play with Fred and George, but…I dunno, they always made me play Chaser."

"Go for Keeper," I said confidently. "Besides, I think Ginny'll want to go for Chaser—"

"_Ginny_?" said Ron incredulously. "Why would she want to try out?"

"I dunno," I said, trying to sound casual. "She's pretty good—besides, Katie will go nuts if she's the only girl on the team."

We took our seats next to Neville, who already had his homework out.

"Professor Sprout says she can make me a teaching assistant for her first year class," he said proudly. "She saw I had a free period, and McGonagall said I can still get credit for it."

"That's awesome," I said.

"Think Dowson's taking any assistants?" Seamus asked, joining us.

"I don't think she'll need to," said Ginny, who was sitting next to Neville. "I hear she's a right terror."

"No way," said Seamus seriously, loading up his plate with food.

"Went and scared the second year classes out of their wits," Ginny continued, buttering a roll. "Sorry, looks like your fantasy's out the window."

I smirked at that.

On our way back upstairs I told Ron I had to stop off in the library for some Potions homework, and promised I'd meet him in the common room later. I scanned the index for any books on alternate universes, but there were only three titles. I grabbed them all, stuffing them in my bag for some late night reading.

I took the long way back to the Gryffindor common room, enjoying the quiet walk through the mostly empty corridors. The sun had nearly set outside; the sky was a deep blue, and only a brilliant orange dot remained just over the lake's surface.

I tried not to wonder too much if this was how my life would have turned out had Voldemort never existed. Not only having my parents back, but everything around me. There were faces here that didn't exist in my world, no doubt snuffed out by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. There were entire lives that only existed here, lives that had been extinguished before even starting in my world. It was unnerving.

I darted up a narrow stone staircase that opened to a portrait just off the seventh floor. I could hear giggling the next level down, and a mental image of Ron and Lavender Brown hiding in this stairwell crept back into my mind.

Laughing to myself, I gave the Fat Lady the password and met my friends in the common room.


	5. Potions, the Professor, and the Patronus

Chapter five:

_T__here is a range of possible observations, each with a different probability. According to the many-worlds interpretation, each of these possible observations corresponds to a different universe._ _Suppose a__die__is thrown that contains six sides and that the numeric result of the throw corresponds to a quantum mechanics__observable__. All six possible ways the die can fall correspond to six different universes._

_The many-worlds interpretation is very vague about the ways to determine when splitting happens, and nowadays usually the criterion is that the two branches have __decohered__. However, present day understanding of decoherence does not allow a completely precise, self-contained way to say when the two branches have decohered/"do not interact", and hence many-worlds interpretation remains arbitrary. This objection is saying that it is not clear what is precisely meant by branching, and point to the lack of self-contained criteria specifying branching._

I stared at the pages, willing my brain to understand what I was reading.

_Also, it is a common misconception to think that branches are completely separate. In Everett's formulation, they may in principle__quantum interfere__(i.e., "merge" instead of "splitting") with each other in the future,__although this requires all "memory" of the earlier branching event to be lost, so no observer ever sees two branches of reality._

So, multiple universes can exist. And the reason is…oh, bollocks.

_The splitting of worlds forward in time, but not backwards in time (i.e., merging worlds), is time asymmetric and incompatible with the time symmetric nature of__Schrödinger's equation__, or__CPT invariance__in general._

What on earth did this mean?

"You up yet, Harry?"

I slid the book under my covers quickly and pulled back the curtains around my bed, pretending to yawn. "Yeah, just woke up."

Ron's hair was sticking up in the back as he began digging for a clean uniform. "I hope Flitwick doesn't go overboard on the homework again today. You finished it, yet?"

"No, I was gonna work on it at breakfast," I said, standing up and stretching.

There ended up being such a demand to host quidditch try-outs that I booked the pitch that weekend. I talked Ron into trying out, and mentioned to Ginny that she should, too. I also made sure to approach my new brother Ben—according to the other Harry's journals, he often played with his friends on school holidays.

"Nah, that's all right," he said, shrugging.

"Really?"

"I never had much interest in joining the team. Besides, that way no one would think you had to put me on because I was your brother."

"I'd put you on because you were good," I said sternly. "What anyone else thinks is rubbish."

He shrugged again. "Thanks though. Hey, Mum wants to you write and tell her how your classes are."

"Er, yeah," I said. I had to keep reminding myself I had family that wanted to hear about my life. It was weird. I all but forgot about Ben on the first day of classes, and it wasn't until he joined us at breakfast the following day that I remembered this Harry had a younger brother.

Just as I remembered from my world, the professors weren't shy about assigning ridiculous amounts of homework.

"You are in a N.E.W.T. level class, and your workload will reflect as such," said Professor McGonagall during a particularly grueling Transfiguration lesson. "Many of you intend to advance on to higher education, and will be expected to have top scores."

Luckily I had taken all of these classes before. I was barely scraping by in Potions, but I was top of the class in all my other subjects.

I didn't have Defense Against the Dark Arts until Thursday, but I had secretly been looking forward to it all week. It was easily my best subject, and I was sure I was way ahead of the rest of the class. It would be nice to have a subject I could slack off in while I worked out theories for multiple universes and time travel.

Ron, Dean, and Seamus were all in good spirits as well at the start of class, but I'm pretty sure it was for a different reason. We shared the lecture with the Hufflepuff class, and I could see Hemione sitting alongside Hannah Abbot on the other side of the room.

Dowson entered the classroom then with nothing more than a clipboard in hand. Now that I got a good look at her, I saw she was rather short and broad-shouldered. But she definitely had a beautiful face, and out of the corner of my eye I could see Seamus straightening up in his seat instantly.

"I'm starting a dueling club for all students fourth-year and up," she said by way of greeting. "If anyone is interested," she said, waving the clipboard. "Sign your name here. If you join, you'll receive a point of extra credit for each session you attend."

The class all exchanged glances before suddenly getting to its feet and rushing the sign-up sheet. I would have joined the club regardless, but I couldn't turn down the prospect of easy extra-credit in a N.E.W.T. level class. Neither, apparently, could anyone else in the room. Once Justin Finch-Fletchley had signed his name and returned to his seat, Dowson turned to us again.

"As you all know, I'm Professor Dowson. I graduated Hogwarts five years ago, and joined the Auror Academy right afterwards. I decided being an Auror wasn't the career for me, and Professor Dumbledore offered me this position.

"While I know it's difficult to go through so many professors on a single, complicated subject, you will be expected to keep up. I teach beyond the N.E.W.T. level—there is no sense to mastering the bare minimum. Most of you will be attending higher education after Hogwarts, and it is my hope that you will be over-prepared."

_Constant vigilance,_ I thought. I wonder if she had the opportunity to meet Mad-Eye Moody in her Auror training.

"We will be covering Dark Creatures until Halloween—it is my understanding you've had a brief course covering the major topics, so we'll be catching up. Halloween through Christmas break we'll cover identifying Dark Magic. The rest of the year will be balanced between defensive spells and counter-curses. Are there any questions?"

She spoke so quickly that I almost didn't keep up.

"Excellent," she said crisply, pulling a chalkboard toward her. She flipped it over and revealed a large picture of a dementor.

"You've covered the basics of dementors in previous classes," she said, brushing chalk dust off her hands. "Putting your knowledge and skill together is very different in the presence of a dementor. I obviously cannot bring the real thing to this class, so we'll be practicing on a substitute next week."

I relaxed a little at this while the class stiffened and shot each other wide-eyed looks. I had battled a hundred dementors at one time—even if it was a sort of fluke.

"Who here has seen a dementor in real life?"

I almost raised my hand; I quickly played it off by scratching the back of my neck.

"And hopefully none of you ever will," she said, looking over the motionless class. "As you know, the only known defense against a dementor is the Patronus Charm. And when I say 'defense' I mean that literally; there is no known spell or enchantment to destroy a dementor. The Patronus Charm is meant to buy you time until you can escape from the situation.

"Within Great Britain, the Ministry has offered a deal with the dementors in our borders. In exchange for employment at Azkaban prison, dementors will not prey on innocent witches or wizards. This is not a guarantee that you may never encounter one, as different countries have different laws and regulations. It is also ignorant to presume that an entity of witches and wizards can have total control over a Dark Creature."

She sat on the edge of her desk and pointed her wand at the chalkboard.

"There are a few defenses you can utilize if cornered by a dementor," she continued. "Though they vary greatly from one individual to the next. The first is Occlumency," she listed, the chalk writing the word quickly on the board. "Who can tell me what that is?"

There was a brief pause. I expected Hermione to raise her hand, but it seems this was one of the rare subjects she was unfamiliar with. I raised mine slowly, feeling all the eyes of the room land on me.

"Yes?" she said, nodding in my direction.

"The act of blocking magical penetration into your mind," I said, remembering my hazardous training with Snape. "Its opposite practice is Legilimency."

"Very good," she said. "Dementors feed on any happy memory you have—if you can block access to these memories, focusing only on neutral experiences, you _may _be able to ward off a dementor's effects longer. Occlumency is a very difficult practice to learn, and most are not well-trained enough for Occlumency to be effective.

"A second defense is Transfiguration," she continued. "Either of yourself into a creature or object with less complex emotions than a human, or of objects into complex beings. This is to be considered a last defense, as you are merely confusing the dementor until help arrives. This is also very difficult unless you are proficient in Advanced Transfiguration."

She conjured up a pot of tea and we all watched in silence as she poured herself a cup. "The last and most effective defense is of course the Patronus Charm," she said, taking a sip. "Some of you may have had a little practice with it last year." She set down her tea cup and stood up. "What most of you will achieve is a sort of white cloud—an iridescent, shapeless Patronus." With a quick flick of her wand, a shimmering silver cloud shot out like a wisp of smoke. "A true Patronus takes a distinct shape, often an animal significant to the witch or wizard. A corporeal Patronus is difficult to cast with minimal distractions, and near impossible when overwhelmed by dementors." Dowson raised her wand again, and a huge hawk shot out, soaring around the classroom twice before disappearing.

"Now, who remembers what's necessary to summon a Patronus?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air.

"Yes—Granger, isn't it?"

"Yes. In order to conjure a Patronus, the witch or wizard must think of a powerful memory—their happiest memory."

"Correct. This may sound simple enough, but it is very, very difficult. It requires you to search through your memories to bring the happiest ones forward—this takes a great deal of mental control. You will often find in this class that defense against Dark Magic—and even Dark Magic itself—is based very little in spells and wand-waving. Having the power to control your mind is pivotal in casting and fighting Dark Magic. Now," she said, clapping her hands together. "I want you all to have a think about your happiest memory—think about the sounds around you. Laughter, music, talking, nature—whatever it was. And what did it smell like? Was the sun hot on your skin, was there rain? Close your eyes and think."

I looked around at the other students before doing as instructed. So much surfaced to my mind, but it was all complicated. All my good memories were marred by something awful—I couldn't think about Sirius, Ginny, or my friends without Voldemort creeping in. I dug back further, to a time when Voldemort was little more than a name to me. The night in an old shack out to sea when Hagrid first told me about Hogwarts.

"Now, who wants to try first?" Dowson asked. I opened my eyes. The class were all looking at each other to see who would volunteer first. "Come on, you're all going to have to do it," she prodded.

I knew I could do it, but I was sure this world's Harry had never so much as attempted the Patronus Charm, and it would definitely raise suspicion if I managed to summon a full, corporeal stag in the classroom. I supposed I could try to be bad on purpose…

"Mr. Potter, you look like you're thinking about something quite hard—why don't you give it a go?"

Oh crap.

I got to my feet and cleared my throat. "Just…up here?" I asked, looking around the room. Everyone was watching me.

"You can't hurt anybody with this."

"Right." I cleared my throat again. I tried to think of a halfway-happy memory. Er, there was the time Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup last year—"

I had never tried to deliberately screw up my spellwork before. I raised my hand, thinking hard of the after-party in the Common Room, and hoped for the best. "_Expecto Patronum!"_

A huge white cloud burst from my wand, but it had no shape to it. Thank Merlin. I had been hoping to achieve the pathetic mist I struggled with in third year so it looked more believable, but I supposed this would work.

Dowson looked pleasantly surprised. "That's the first time I've seen someone cast more than mist on their first go-around," she said, nodding.

Oh crap.

"Try it again," she encouraged, folding her arms.

I bit my lip, feeling all eyes in the room upon me. On one hand it'd be kind of cool to just go for it and impress everone, but that would have to raise suspicions. I searched my mind for another halfway happy memory, and settled on the Christmas I got a Firebolt.

Once again, shapeless silver clouds.

"You look distracted when you're casting," said Dowson. "Close your eyes."

_Constant vigilance _creeped into the back of my head, but I did as I was told.

"Tell me when you have your memory."

"I have it," I said automatically. I would go with making the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

"Okay. Now I want you to think about when this occurred—what season was it? Can you remember what the weather was like? Out loud, it'll help your focus."

"It was early fall."

"How was the weather?"

I thought. "Er, sunny. Not too warm or cold yet."

"Were there other people around?"

"Yeah."

"Think about their faces. What did they look like, what were they doing?"

The memory of Malfoy knicking Neville's Remembrall crept into my mind; how I had managed to snatch it from a hundred-foot freefall my first time on a broom.

"Think on why this made you happy—were you surrounded by family or friends, was there a thrill of excitement? Focus on that feeling."

It had been the first time I was effortlessly good at anything. The Dursleys used to keep me so down-trodden, and I wasn't used to being considered talented or useful.

Or accepted.

"Do it!"

I jumped and blurted the spell before I could clear my mind. A huge silver cloud shot forth, dancing around the room. It wasn't much more than mist and smoke, but I know Dowson didn't miss the slight dog-like shape it took before disappearing.

Dowson looked ecstatic. "Very good! That was very good! You see, by perfecting your ability to focus, you add so much more power to the same exact spellwork. You can sit, Potter. Who wants to try next?"

My brain was fuzzy. I slumped into my chair without really being aware of the awed looks or playful punches Ron, Dean, and Seamus gave me.

All I could think about was how my Patronus had always been a stag.

But this was a dog.

A giant, bear-like dog that was just like one I knew from a previous life.

It was hard to focus the rest of the day. Word quickly spread about my almost-patronus, and I had several faces come up to me and want to talk about it. Transfiguration was a blur, but double Herbology kept everyone busy and distracted, giving me an opportunity to be left alone with my thoughts.

Was I replacing my dad with Sirius?

* * *

><p>The try-outs were ridiculously messy. The whole affair lasted the better part three hours, and the fact that almost every position had to be replaced didn't help. Katie and I were the only original teammates left, and by the time the third wave of prospects—a group of giggling girls including Romilda Vane and that Clare Philips—came through, Katie looked like she had given up on life.<p>

Groups showed up without brooms. There were students from other Houses, and several first-year students who had clearly never flown before. There were a couple of crashes and a lot of broken teeth. After her try-out, Ginny was gracious enough to lead a group of loudly-complaining students to the hospital wing.

Ginny showed up and was excellent, just as I figured. I hadn't seen much of her that first week of term, but watching her fly around the Quidditch pitch brought forth memories of our impromptu kiss. I had to keep reminding myself that this was a different Ginny.

Two hours in, I was ready to rip out my hair. I was sure I had my Chasers and one Beater picked out, but that still left two open seats. I ran my hands through my hair for the millionth time that day, and called out the next to last group. Cormac McLaggen had been busy discussing his Quidditch expertise with the other students and gave me an affable smile. I was too irritated to return it.

"Right, I'm going to divide you into Chasers and Beaters," I said, eyeballing the group real quick to make sure they all had brooms.

"What about Keeper?" Cormac asked.

I tried not to be annoyed. I really didn't have a reason to be annoyed with Cormac McLaggen, except for the fact that he was competing for what was supposed to be Ron's spot on the team.

Ron, who still hadn't shown up.

"Okay, fine, you can play Keeper," I said distractedly. "Let's go."

I was disappointed to see that Cormac played just as well as he did in my world. I sat on my broom, glowering at the scene in front of me: he blocked every shot with precision and shot the giggling girls down below a toothy grin. _Good, _I thought snarkily. _Maybe Romilda and Clare will go after him and leave me alone._

Finally, when I was running out of excuses to prolong the end of try-outs, Ron finally showed up with a Nimbus in hand, a broom that looked suspiciously like the one the Whomping Willow destroyed in my third year.

"Finally!" I said to Ron, meeting him on the edge of the Quidditch Pitch. "Where've you been?"

"Don't distract me—let's get this over with."

I raised my eyebrows but didn't argue. "Er, okay."

I set up one last group—putting Ginny on as Chaser again—and Katie and I mounted our brooms.

Ron fumbled the first ball that came his way, but he did manage to block it from going through any of the hoops. He looked nervous, but quickly got over it once he made a close save five minutes in. The group of spectators down below cheered, and this seemed to give Ron the boost of confidence he needed.

"All right, that's it!" I shouted, blowing my whistle. "Results will be posted to the Common Room in a few days! Do not come find me and ask about it before that, or I'll ban you from the team!"

"Think I did all right?" Ron asked as Katie and I began to lock up the quidditch balls. Most of the crowd had dispersed at this point, eager to spend the remainder of their Saturday lounging around.

"You were excellent!" I said genuinely. "I'll see you later, Katie—" I added while she went to go put the equipment away.

"Yeah, I had no idea I wouldn't be rubbish at Keeper," said Ron, still a little breathless. "But Cormac wasn't bad, either."

I glanced up to make sure no one could overhear me. "Cormac's an idiot—spent half the time watching the girls down below. I should have let a bludger out—teach him to pay attention during a game."

Ron grinned at that. "Well, I'm starving. Let's go get some food, yeah?"

I learned from last year, and was careful not to accept any gifts or favors until after the new team list was posted. I avoided the common room as much as possible that weekend, preferring to hide out with Ron in the library or by the lake. Our homework load was ridiculous, and the assignments from Snape easily matched three of my other classes put together. It was lucky that I had studied most of this before; Ron and I didn't have Hermione to help us get through our work this time around.

Hermione and I were paired together two nights a week for patrol—this was mostly spent walking around the corridors at night, telling off students who were breaking curfew. Hermione wasn't much of a talker in the beginning, but I convinced her that having a conversation wouldn't detract from our work performance. She grudgingly obliged, and I had to wonder how on earth this version of her was so rigid. I would bet my Firebolt that she hadn't broken a single rule in this world.

"I've seen you in the library a lot," she said one night. Usually I had to start the conversations. "What are you studying?"

"Huh? Oh, I was just trying to get through McGonagall's homework earlier—between her and Snape, I think I'm going to explode."

"No, I mean on your own. I saw you with some books that we're not using for class. Are you studying something on your own?"

I had wanted Hermione's help with the subject, but this wasn't quite how I pictured bringing it all up.

"Er, yeah. Sirius—er, my godfather—gave me this book over the summer and so I've been doing some research on my own about it. And I'm pretty much still stuck at page one. It doesn't really make any sense."

Hermione gave me a sort of bemused, patient look. "Can I ask what subject it is?"

"Huh? Oh, right—er, alternate universes? You know, like multiple timelines."

"That does sound complicated."

"The idea of it is straightforward. Say you have a die you cast six times," I said, recalling the information from one of the books I had checked out. "Each side corresponds to a potential future—each one is acted out in a separate line."

"That would be interesting," said Hermione, sounding genuine. "It's like with Time-Turners—I've always wondered what happens to the world that you leave when you travel back—does it continue on and then get replaced by the events from traveling back? And if those events are replaced, can you argue that the first one never existed?"

I remembered the night Ron, Hermione and I saved Sirius and Buckbeak with Hermione's Time Turner.

"I dunno. There are mostly just theories," I said. "And they're all equally confusing. But they all agree that once the timeline separates—once two observable universes are distinct from each other—they cannot touch again—meaning you can't hop from one to the other."

"I wonder when they would split," said Hermione, sounding the most relaxed I had yet seen her. "Each day you wake up—every decision you make, every person you meet, is an opportunity for a different path. It sounds like if anything, the universe is branched into millions and millions of parts, rather than just two straight lines diverging at some point and running parallel."

"Huh. I guess I didn't think of it that way," I said. We were making rounds on the seventh floor, and had rounded another empty corner. "So every situation could lead to a new timeline? It doesn't have to be significant?"

Hermione shrugged. "Well, if our basis is that each separate branch occurs for every probability, I guess so. You'd make a thousand new potential futures in a single day," she said, raising her eyebrows at the thought. "And if you travel back in time, you can adjust any of them—and then create new ones."

"What about moving between alternate timelines?" I asked. "Not just time-traveling, but actually moving from one universe to another. Think that's possible?"

Hermione thought for a long moment. "I don't know," she finally said. "It might be do-able in theory—but how you would actually achieve it is hard to imagine. How did you get on this subject again? It seems awfully dense for a self-study."

"Er, my godfather," I lied. "He travels a lot for work, so he's always bringing home these crazy books and stuff. This one just sounded really interesting."

"Well, I do know that the Ministry studies things like this," Hermione added. "You know, if you're serious about it, and want to pursue it to that degree."

"What, like a job?"

She shrugged. "It's not too far from now that we'll be graduating," she said.

"Yeah, I s'pose so."

We had circled the floor again, and were outside the Fat Lady's portrait. I checked my watch. "Five past ten. Guess our time's up."

Hermione gave the password and we entered the empty common room together.

"Er, well, see you in the morning," I said awkwardly, heading up the boys' staircase.

She nodded. "Right. Good night."

The others were all asleep. I yanked my bed's hangings shut and pulled out several books from underneath my pillow.

"_Lumos," _I whispered, searching for some parchment and a quill. I used one of the thick textbooks as a writing surface, and began detailing everything I had learned into a letter to Sirius, including Hermione's insight. By the time I was done, my letter was almost three pages long, back-to-front.

I hastily wrote a second one to my parents, this one much shorter and lighter in tone. I told them about the quidditch try-outs, about how classes were going. It was very superficial compared to the novel I wrote Sirius, but there was nothing else I could say. I couldn't tell them how I wasn't really their Harry, and that Merlin knows where the real one went. No doubt Sirius was used to stranger things, and even he could barely handle the idea.

My mind drifted back to my changed patronus in class the other day.

The dog.

Not a stag.

I pulled out my want, trying to focus very clearly on my happiest memory. I recalled how unexplainably enormous Hagrid had seemed, and remembered the squished birthday cake he had made for me. I remembered my complete shock and delight at being told I was a wizard who would soon attend Hogwarts.

A bright white light shot out of my wand, straight through my four poster's hangings. I yanked them back to get a good look at the animal circling around the room, and saw the unmistakable shape of antlers.

"What the hell?"

"'s going on?"

My patronus dissipated quickly as Ron yanked his bed hangings to the side. "The bloody hell's that?" he muttered sleepily.

"Er, nothing. Go back to sleep."

Ron flopped back on his bed, and began snoring almost instantly.

I pulled my hangings shut again. I felt relieved at seeing the stag again, but I couldn't help wonder why it had changed at all in the Defense classroom. I was torn—on one hand I didn't want the stag to be replaced, but I also felt guilty for not wanting Sirius in that role.

In a lot of ways, Sirius _was_ like a father.

And now in this world I had both. It was way more complicated than I had expected it to be.


End file.
